


And It Crawls Beneath The Skin

by Wisperwind



Series: The Fox and the Wolf [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (in more than one way), Actually everyone feels guilty for something, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Curses, Demonic Possession, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hello Naughty Children It's Nogitsune Time, Hey I'm late to the fandom but whatever have some angst, I don't, I'm making up kitsune lore that is definitely not canon compliant but see if I care, M/M, No Kate because fuck Kate, Nogitsune, Nogitsune Effects, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Pining, Possession, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Psychological Horror, Safewords, Scott is a Good Friend, Sheriff Stilinski's name is Sheriff, Stiles Stilinski Feels Guilty, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD, This fic ignores everything past season 3B because I simply haven't watched it, achievement unlocked: Slow burn in under 10 chapters, and the breaking thereof, post 3b, snow storms as plot devices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-03-26 14:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 88,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13859427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wisperwind/pseuds/Wisperwind
Summary: In the aftermath of the Nogitsune, Allison and Aiden are struggling for their lives, and the Fox isn't as gone as everyone would like it to be. Scott just wants his friends back.All the while, Stiles dreams of shadows, Go and the sweet taste of pain.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks goes to Satandidnothingwrong who is the most amazing beta I could have asked for and thepinkseat-askthemoonbunny who patiently listened to my rambling about this fic for over 5 months.

**~*~**

**Stiles**

 

Stiles is watching himself going mad slowly and he doesn't know what to do. The Fox is gone. He knows It's gone. Both Mrs Yukimura and her Oni confirmed it for them.

 

_“Am I actually me?”_

 

_“More you than the Nogitsune.”_

 

She didn't say he was entirely himself.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to block out that thought. There is a Kanji that's burned into his skin, right behind his ear. It's fading, but it's still there.

 

Self.

 

He is himself; Stiles Stilinski, one hundred percent. If he doesn't believe that, he might as well just go and check himself back into Eichen. He lacks conviction though because no matter what he tries he can't get rid of the memory of digging a sword into his best friend and twisting it.

 

He can't forget how delicious Scott's pain had been.

 

Knees drawn up to his chest, he turns in his bed to face the wall. If he clenches the fists tight enough he can almost pretend that his hands aren't shaking.

 

It wasn't him who sucked the pain from Scott because he craved it like a drug, or was it? Does it matter if he remembers doing it? What does it matter if he wants…

 

He's rubbed raw, an open nerve, his head is a mess and he needs someone to watch his steps more than ever, to make sure he doesn't snap. But it can't be Scott. He hurt Scott and hurt his Pack, almost killed both Aiden and Allison. He knows Scott worries about him, but he shouldn't. Stiles doesn't deserve it.

 

It's been almost a week since he split himself from the Fox. He'd ripped himself out of his own body by sheer force of will. Which should have been impossible, probably, but Scott and Lydia had been there and Stiles could not be less than himself in front of Scott. He probably did it wrong, somehow, if there even was a right way to do it. He is always too cold now, chilled right down to the bone. It's November, though, and temperatures have dropped below freezing already so maybe it's just the season. _'Maybe. Hopefully. Please let it just be that.'  
_

 

Curled up on his bed, wraped in three blankets and with a hot water bottle, the curtains drawn to block out the sun because he can't stand the light anymore, Stiles stares at the wall and tries to rationalise what's happening to him. Even low light burns through his eyes straight into his skull, harsh and unforgiving and the aspirin he takes doesn't do shit. The stabbing pain eventually drives him to find the largest pair of sunglasses he can wear without looking completely and utterly ridiculous. It's not perfect, but nothing ever is, and it helps. If those were all the consequences of his demonic possession and botched exorcism he might have been able to deal.

 

Reality, Stiles learns, is not that kind. It is a lesson he has been taught before but apparently the universe decided it didn't stick well enough the first far-too-many times.

 

There are tears in his mind. Breaks and cracks and wisps of darkness. A door that stood open too long, now splintered and broken, never to be closed again. He can feel the gaps and the missing pieces and sometimes, when everything is quiet, he hears a voice inside his head whispering riddles.

 

The Fox is gone. It doesn't matter that he still tenses whenever he hears the buzzing of a fly, or that he has to force himself not to flinch when he catches sight of his reflection unexpectedly. It's gone. It has to be. The voice inside his head can be nothing but a figment of his imagination.

 

He's not sure if that makes it better or worse.

 

 

**~*~**

 

Stiles keeps to isolating himself for a while. He has a silent agreement with his dad that, if no one pushes him or forces him to talk, Stiles will keep the door to his room open and tell his dad if he's going anywhere.

 

Not that he is going anywhere. Instead, he wanders through the house, sunglasses firmly in place, like an animal in a cage of his own making. He can't play this game forever, but he needs the time. His mind is a roiling mess of _guilt/shame/rage_. It's only a matter of time before something - or someone - snaps and unless he takes this time to process what was done to him, things will get ugly when it happens. He told Scott and the Pack to stay away and give him space for the time being. What could he say to them, anyway? All the people who will come looking for him eventually? ‘Allison, I'm sorry I almost killed you. You too Aiden. No hard feelings, right?’, ‘Sorry I tried to murder you all, won't happen again, I promise.’, ‘Sorry I pretended to be me when I wasn't. I'll try to do better.’? Even he knows how insane that sounds. He isn't fine and he doesn't have the energy to pretend to be.

 

He can't look them in the eyes, knowing what he did, what he had almost done. What he could still do.

 

He's fooling no one - Lydia has been busy but Stiles has at least five unheard voicemails just from her. Kira called his house and asked for him but Stiles could only shake his head when his dad asked him if he wanted to talk to her. It had nothing to do with Kira in particular. He just doesn't want to talk to anybody.

 

He thinks the dead rabbit he found on the doorstep might have been left there by Malia. Which would definitely be odd but Stiles supposes that it's the thought that counts. Even Derek has been by, though he - in true Derek-like fashion - didn't actually do anything other than glare. At Stiles’ window. From across the street. In any case, it was nice to know they cared, even after Stiles had almost killed them.

 

He's banking on everyone assuming he has demon fox possession related PTSD and needs time to adjust. He probably has and he certainly does, if he's being honest, so it's not even a lie. He really can't deal with people until he gets his head sorted, so he stays away. It's not his only reason though, and that's exactly the problem.

 

As the days go on, Stiles gets weaker and more and more irritable. His head switches between feeling stuffed up with too many thoughts for just one brain and being far too empty. Echoes of his own voice chase each other in the deserted corridors of his mind. He’s still freezing and constantly getting colder. He can't stop the shivering anymore.

 

Every movement hurts. His bones are aching. Sometimes he feels like he is spun out of glass; colourless and brittle. Invisible in the right light, at the right angle. Feeling fragile, breakable and overlooked is nothing new to Stiles. He is the only normal human in a pack of wolves and he has experience at being a social outcast. It has never felt this literal before. If he moves the wrong way, if he's touched too firmly, touched at all, surely he will shatter and dissolve into smoke. _(It has happened before. He's seen it. Seen what his face looked like the moment he died._

 

_It could happen again.)_

 

He doesn't know why he still feels like he's dying, like the life is draining from him even now, when the Nogitsune is gone - their connection broken.

 

Was it broken?

 

Is it broken?

 

He does his best not to worry about it, tries not to think about the things he remembers now, the things he knows. Wikipedia swallows up entire chunks of his days, where he's reading up on everything from honey badgers to the lives of Chinese generals from the early 10th century. The random article function truly is a blessing.

 

Video games aren't as distracting as they used to be. When he catches himself criticising the blood splatters for being unrealistic he turns of the console and shuts himself away for the rest of the day.

 

But he's doing fine - That's a lie, but it's a lie he's convinced himself into believing - until the day he sees Scott at the memorial.

 

Of course there is a memorial service. How could there not be? He'd thought about not going, obviously, but his dad had been asked to give a speech and Stiles is getting tired of staring at the walls. He's tired of this whole self pity thing in general. It hasn't helped so far and it's never going to. Avoidance keeps him at a standstill but he doesn't like where he’s standing, so it's time to try something different. Therefore, on a damp late November Friday, he dresses up in all black and tries his best not to panic while preparing to leave the house for the first time in weeks.

 

Of course his dad notices.

 

“You don't have to come. I know how hard this has been for you. No one would think less of you if you stayed home for this, Stiles.” He is worried - no surprise there - and makes no effort to hide it, standing in the doorway, wringing his hands and watching Stiles wearily as he fiddles with his tie.

 

He is right, too. No one would blame him, but staying home has done him no favours either and he's tired of isolation. He craves human contact again even though he knows he shouldn't. He's lonely and cut off from almost everyone he cares about and he needs it to last forever and can't stand it a second longer. He wants to protect the world from what's inside his head but he's too selfish for it to last. He can't say that, though. Not to his dad.

 

“This entire thing is my fault in the first place. Alright, fine, maybe not all of it,” he amends before his dad can even open his mouth. “But it still feels like it is. Maybe I'm not the one who did this but I'm the one who remembers doing it. So I owe it to the people that I- the people that the Fox hurt to at least be there. I can't do much else to make amends but I can at least do this.” His grip on the tie tightens until his knuckles turn white, which doesn't make tying it any easier. He fiddles a few seconds more before he rips the entire thing off and throws it on the table.

 

It doesn't stay there for long. “Let me help you with that.” Silence fills the room as his dad knots the tie around his neck with practiced hands. When he's done he put Stiles’ collar down over it and runs his hands over his shirt to straighten out imaginary creases. “You know no one blames you for what happened. I don't need to tell you that none of what happened is your fault. You're smart enough to know that on your own, but if you think this will help you - that you want to do this - then far be it from me to stop you.”

 

Stiles smiles weakly. “Come on dad. We both know there is really no way that you could. And yes. I'm sure. I need to do this.”

 

His father laughs and ruffles his hair, something that he hasn't done in a while.

 

Together, they walk to the car. The drive is short and spent in silence. As they arrive, Stiles steels himself and forces his back not to bow under the weight of his guilt.

 

It's nothing but a symbolic gesture, he knows that, but if he doesn't start to do _something_ he'll go insane. Well. More insane.

 

The memorial is held in a park close to the city centre. Actually ‘park’ might be a bit too kind a word for the place. Surrounded by a badly maintained hedge and a rotting fence, it's just an usually large patch of lawn with a few trees scattered here and there. Barely enough space to fit a stage and the crowd of mournful and sympathetic watchers, but they make due. People are carrying candles and laying down flowers in front of a row of black and white photographs. Pictures of the seven people who died almost two weeks ago.

 

Even though he's sure his father's speech is both appropriate for the occasion and sufficiently inspiring, Stiles doesn't hear a single word of it. His ears are filled with white noise and the memory of screaming. Trying  to stay unseen, he burns the faces on the photographs into his memory. He can taste echoes of pain and grief in the air. It makes him twitch.

 

He should have expected to see Scott there. Of course he would come; his mother had been hurt in the attacks. That is another stab of guilt because Melissa has been wonderful to Stiles for years and she _shouldn't have been hurt._ Stiles - _the Fox -_ cut her with words and swords, and tried his best to poison the wounds, make them fester. It's owed only to Melissa’s inner strength and a good helping of luck that she didn't take any lasting damage.

 

The second Scott's eyes land on him, he notices. It's like a physical sensation, the weight of that stare. It might be because Stiles wants to do nothing more that to disappear - permanently if possible - but he can't bring himself to meet Scott's eyes in return.

 

This was a bad idea. Confronting what he did to strangers is one thing but confronting what he did to Scott is not something he planned to do today. Scott will try to talk to him and Stiles can't deal with that, not yet. Not with his head swimming with too many thoughts again and the taste of at least fifty people's grief lingering in the air.

 

He hears Scott calling his name but it's not loud enough that he can’t pretend he didn't hear him. He's not sure what he would say to Scott if they were to speak now. Something cutting and hurtful probably, because he's too raw for anything else.

 

He wants his best friend back. He wants the easy companionship and free laughter and the teasing back. He wants hands slapped on shoulders and hugs and sleepovers and sharing a bed because they were both too lazy to get the futon and they sleep better next to each other anyway. He wants normalcy again, but there is a wasps nest of barely contained rage sleeping under his skin now. Stiles won't let Scott poke at it.

 

Scott hasn't been good at leaving Stiles alone, though he has, admittedly, done better than Stiles expected when he asked for space. The daily texts and check-ins are annoying but not intrusive, and thus far he has respected every reply of “not now” and “I need more time” that Stiles has sent to keep him away. He doesn't deserve to be Stiles verbal punching bag just because Stiles can't get his head back to normal. It's not Scott's fault that he feels like a life wire. So he watches his best friend out of the corner of his eyes, sees him try to grab his attention again and leaves in the split second that Scott turns away. One useful thing he's learned in the from the Fox is how to move with the shadows to stay unseen.

 

Alone, he sits in the car and waits for his dad to come back, head in his hands and trying to calm his breathing. By the time the car door opens Stiles has schooled himself back to looking unphased.

 

**~*~**

 

The ride home is even more quiet than the drive earlier had been. Stiles is driving. The radio stays turned off, as it has been all week. Probably, because neither of them need bi-hourly newscasts to remind them of how fucked up their home town is. They aren't likely to forget.

 

He feels sick. Seven people. It could have been far worse, but still. Those were seven people who died running from a demon wearing his face.

 

The Oni had aimed to cut, not to kill. A longer, drawn out suffering would have provided the Fox with more food and therefore with more energy. A creeping death, brought on by terror and cursed poison. Yes, it could have been worse. Had they been ordered to kill indiscriminately, neither the hospital nor the police station would still be standing and Deaton would likely be dead as well.

 

For Stiles, it’s already so much worse.

 

The Nogitsune had taken control of the Oni only after It and Stiles had split. Stiles hadn't been there. It hadn't been him, the demon walking into the hospital and starting a massacre. At the time, he had been halfway across town, trying to find a way to stop it all, even if that meant dying. He hadn't known about the attacks until the Fox told him and the others about them when they confronted It in the school.

 

So why does he remember being there now?

 

**~*~**

 

Knowing about the supernatural hasn't been easy for his dad, but it is something Stiles couldn't be more grateful for right now. He has no idea how he would have explained to him that his evil clone who nobody knew about had replaced him and wrecked chaos over the entire town. The attempt probably would have landed him in a straight jacket, permanently. It's not something he likes to consider. Then again, the things that Stiles likes to consider are kind of in short supply these days. As it is, he's just grateful. His dad has been great. He has left Stiles to pull himself together on his own but he has never quite left him alone, an ever present, comforting presence. He hasn't offered help, not verbally at least, because they both know that if Stiles should ask, it will be given without question. The fact that his dad still trusts him enough to know when he needs space and when he needs something else is part of what keeps Stiles together. Damn, right now he's grateful that he trusts him enough to drive his car.

 

Not everything has changed. Not every connection he had was wrapped into something new. If his dad can still treat him the same, maybe he can try and act the same too, for his sake. The idea takes the edges off the silence, makes it feel almost comforting.

 

His father's steady presence grounds him enough that when Scott text lights up his screen after they arrive at home, Stiles doesn't even hesitate to answer. He manages to divert any sort of questions with a promise to return to school come Monday. That gives him one more weekend to pull his act together and at least put up a farce of being functioning human being. What he says is true in any case. His grades have dropped too much already for him to be able to afford any more absence.

 

The supernatural has taken too much from him, it doesn't get to take his future as well. It's time to draw a line in the sand.

 

That evening, his dad finds him writing a make up assignment for English that he should have handed in last week. Last week his head had been a broken and fractured mess though and he couldn't have given two shits about the lives of Hermia and Helena and who gets dosed with love potion and why. His head is still a mess but he's more angry at the world than scared of himself now and this needs to be done by Monday so he will sit down and do it.

 

“I take it that means you're going back to school?” his dad says, leaning against the door frame.

 

Stiles doesn't even bother looking up, when he answers. He still needs at least three more paragraphs and then he has to catch up on econ and algebra too.

 

“I'm sick of staring at the walls. It's not helping me any.” Which is the truth. Todays exercise in exposure therapy hadn't exactly been great but maybe the familiar environment of high school will be different.

 

Out if the corner of his eye, he sees his dad nod.

 

“I'll call the school then.” his tone is hesitant.

 

He turns, makes to leave Stiles to his work and Stiles expects that to be the end of it but then his dad stops again. Now Stiles actually looks up. There is discomfort written over his father's face, so he probably won't want to hear what he has to say. He sighs. Why couldn't there be good news for a change?

 

“Whatever it is, just tell me.”

 

“Have you talked to Scott?” Stiles turns his chair around because his dad is hedging, which he almost never does. Stiles fixes him with an unimpressed stare, trying to communicate ‘get to the point’ without actually saying it.

 

“We've texted but he's not telling me much. I haven't really asked either. I guess we'll talk on Monday. Why?”

 

“I've talked to Chris Argent earlier. He was at the memorial. Did you see him?” Stiles hadn't which was probably for the best, so he shakes his head.

 

“Allison is... Stiles she's not getting better. Not getting much worse either but the doctors don't know what else to do with her so they're keeping her in the ICU for monitoring. It's the same with that Aiden kid I'm told. Chris asked me to… Well he wanted me to ask if there's anything… “ He's winging his hands by now and trails off, so Stiles completes the thought on his own.

 

“He wants to know if I remember what it did to them, if I have an idea of how they can be cured.” His voice sounds dead even to his own ears.

 

“Do you?”

 

“... No, I don't.”

 

_But I could. Maybe._

 

Stiles looks away.

 

**~*~**

**Scott**

 

One week before the memorial, Scott gets a message about from Chris Argent that tells him to head to the hospital immediately. The call - and the subsequent text when he doesn't answer that - comes befores his last class lets out. He sees the alert for the missed call and reads the message in the locker room and immediately grabs his bag and heads out, leaving Isaac to stare at him in confusion. There are, however, by far worse things than one skipped lacrosse practice and Isaac will probably appreciate any news he gets more than his company.

 

The late fall air is biting at his face as he almost speeds towards his destination. He's not sure if he has ever been his high strung before in his life. Since they defeated the Nogitsune things should have been getting better but instead…

 

Stiles isn't returning his calls. Teaching Malia how to be a werecoyote is clashing hard with teaching her how to act like a human and now Argent has called him to meet him and his mom at the hospital because apparently there is something wrong with his friends - is Aiden even his friend? He still doesn't know if he can trust the twins.

 

It doesn't matter. Aiden is hurt, just as Allison is, because they both wanted to help Scott. Therefore, they are his responsibility.

 

He arrives at the hospital faster than what was probably necessary. Argent mentioned that there was no current emergency, but Scott is worried anyway. If he tried to called during school hours, it must be important.

 

He parks his bike and walks through the automatic doors so quickly, that they almost don't open fast enough for him not to crash into them.

 

It's easy to find his mom and she hugs him briefly when he does. “Chris is in the waiting room on floor two. Let me just finish this and I'll head up with you.” she says, stepping back to her desk while says it.

 

It only takes a minute for her to sign off a few papers and file them before they can take the elevator together. Argent is waiting for them, as he said he would be but Scott is surprised to see Lydia and Ethan there as well.

 

Ethan is leaning against the wall furthest from the hunter, watching him wearily. He looks up when he sees them approaching. Lydia, too, looks up. Sitting with her legs crossed and he hands neatly folded in her lap she looks the picture of collected patience, but - aside from Argent himself - she is by far the most exhausted of them all. Scott wonders if she even sleeps anymore. He himself has almost become an insomniac.

 

They all give the impression of not having left the hospital since Allison and Aiden were checked in. Ethan and Lydia, Scott has seen at school, but with Argent that might just be the truth. Scott is ashamed to admit that he hasn’t visited at all before now. It sounds like a stupid justification but the truth is he’s just been busy. Teaching Mala takes a lot of his time and so does school, more so than usual since he’s taking notes for Stiles as well. Also, as both Allison and Aiden are still in the ICU, no one is allowed to see either of them anyway. But now Scott has the power of his mom and her hospital wide access card him.

 

“Hey,” he finally says, nodding at everyone in the room. They are alone, he notes. No other patients or waiting friends and family members around. For the best he thinks, and unlikely to be a coincidence. His eyes settle on Argent. “You called me? What’s going on? Are they okay? Your message was a bit vague.”

 

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” He visibly steels himself and straightens up. “Allison’s doctor was with me earlier, to update me on her condition. I asked you and Mellissa to come because I had have some suspicions and I’d hoped that both of you could lend me your expertise. And yes, you can calm down. For now, they are both okay.”

 

Scott sighs in relief, then finds himself frowning. “You know I’ll help in whatever way I can but I’m not sure what I could tell you that you don’t know already. I’m not a doctor and I’m far from being an expert at this.” He makes a vague gesture with his hand, trying to encompass the entire situation and how utterly lost he feels in it.

 

Argent shrugs noncommittally. “Maybe you know nothing. But I’d like your opinion anyway. So, the good news first. Allison came out of surgery with a good prognosis, the blade missed anything vital and I’ve been told that she would make a full recovery. Now the bad news are, that was four days ago and she still hasn’t woken up. She’s in a coma now.”

 

Before Scott even has time to react to that, Lydia speaks up. “Including her and Aiden, there are five people here who share the same condition. Came into the hospital with more or less severe wounds, fell unconscious quickly and no one has been able to wake them since. Scott, all of them are victims of the oni.” She looks scared, even with the piercing look she gives him and her collected posture. Scott can see it in the way her hands tighten on her skirt.

 

It takes him a few seconds to process what she’s telling him. When realization hits, it feels like his lungs are filling up with ice because _no_. No, this was supposed to be over. “The Nogitsune. You think it’s still…?”

 

The air in the room grows tense. They have dealt with terrible situations before but this? If the Fox is still out there then Scott is at the end of his rope. He has been out of ideas and desperate before, but that was with Stiles at his side and fighting with him. If what they are implying is true then...

 

“We don’t know for sure. But it’s not very likely to be a coincidence, is it? It might just be an after effect; a part of its plans that it never got to finish but I’m not sure I want to take that risk.” Argent is pacing now. Every time he passes by Ethan, the wolf tenses a little more. Which has to be some accomplishment because he looks like he’ll snap something if he tenses any more. He’s watching them all with a pinched sort of expression, but still doesn’t say anything. Instead it’s Scott’s mom who speaks up.

 

“I’m a nurse not an expert on the supernatural, but I can tell you that five comatose people in one week is definitely unusual. Even by Beacon Hills standarts. Your daughter was badly injured, and so was Aiden. So their condition might be explainable, but they’ve both been responding well to treatment so far. They just won’t wake up. The other three had even less severe injuries and none of them experienced any sort of head trauma. So in my professional, medical opinion none of this makes any sort of sense.” She ends on a frustrated huff. It’s obvious that she’s just as worried as everyone else.

 

“Alright” Scott finds himself saying and he has to stop himself from grinding his teeth to get the words out. “So it’s definitely something the Nogitsune did. What are we going to do about it? Do we even know what's actually wrong with them yet?”

 

Lydia shakes her head and Ethan growls lowly but it’s Chris who says “No. We don’t. I’ve asked Deaton to take another look at them after he closes the animal clinic for the day. Until then we don’t know anything. That’s why I called you here. I want to know everything you remember about that day. Everything that thing said, everything it did. Anything that could possibly help us find out what it did to my Allison.”

 

“And Aiden.”  Ethan’s voice sounds off. There’s anger in it absolutely and Scott sees it reflected on his face as he turns to him. He’s still tense, his eyes look like they might start shooting sparks soon, though they are still brown. But there is more there, he just can’t put a finger on it.

 

“And Aiden.” he says, nodding once at Ethan then turning back to Argent. Whatever Ethan’s problem is will have to wait. “Alright. Let's see what we all remember. Should I start?”

 

Argent nods. “Please.”

 

So he tells them. He tells them everything he remembers about saving Lydia, the sudden appearance of the oni, the Nogitsune, seeing Allison stabbed and holding her while they were waiting for the ambulance to arrive. He tells them about the day after, the fight in the school, about how the Nogitsune had taunted them, used illusions and tried to trick them. He tells them about how it made them think that they were fighting the oni when in fact the twins, Derek and Isaac were keeping them off. He tells them about destroying it's stolen body with the Bite and trapping it inside the nemeton box.

 

The events inside of the hospital are added by his mom. She tells about the sudden screaming that alerted her and everyone else that something was wrong. She tells about the pain of being cut by the oni’s blade, the freezing burn of whatever curse or poison it was, that creeped under her skin. How it suddenly vanished and she knew that it was over and that she would be fine. The absent shifting of her leg while she recounts the events reminds Scott that his mother, while arguably the strongest person he knows, heals much slower than what he has become used to.

Lydia goes next. She adds to what has been said already with her own perspective, but also describes what happened when the Fox held her captive. She goes into detail when she tells them how it took control of the oni. “It needed me to know when ‘death would be close’, or so it said. It broke the blade in the exact moment when the oni almost stabbed us. I'm not sure if it was actually death or just the oni in general that it needed close enough for that to work, but that is what it said.”

 

Lastly, Ethan tells his side of events. His voice is quiet and he keeps to what Scott assumes is the cliff note version of events. He talks about how he and Aiden had been all but ready to leave, and how Derek convinced them to stay and help. He talks about their fight with the Fox and its stolen demons, how his brother got stabbed and fell for the cause of an alpha that isn't even theirs.

 

The room falls into silence when he finishes.

 

“So - if I gather this correctly - when the Nogitsune was fighting you it send its oni aiming to maim and kill. By the sound of it, Allison and Aiden survived on pure luck, but when it was here in the hospital they were meant to cause chaos and destruction, but not death?” Having finally stopped his pacing, Argent runs a hand through his hair and looks at each of them in turn. “How does that make sense?”

 

Lydia mumbles something to herself that Scott doesn’t quite catch. “What did you say?” Eyes wide, she turns to him. She looks like a deer caught in headlights.

 

“ _‘I eat what you feel and I’m insatiable.’_ That’s what he - it - said to me. I thought it was just to scare me but it wasn’t, was it? That is literally what it did. Its entire motivation. To this thing, we were nothing more than a food source, a means to an end.” she stands up, and now it’s her who’s pacing. Scott is starting to get a bit dizzy.

 

“It’s like a mosquito. When a mosquito bites, it might want to bite the same blood source again so its saliva contains an coagulant which is what causes the bite to itch, but it also stops it from bleeding. Maybe this is the same. The Fox didn’t want to kill off it’s food source so that’s why so few people died. I mean, what happened was tragic but had the oni gone all out it would have been a massacre.” Lydia’s voice grows faster with every word she says, but it stays firmly and clear. “The goal was to terrorize and cause pain, so it could feed off of it later. I don’t think this thing could feed of death the way it could of emotion or it probably would have never let me escape.”

 

It feels like there is an iron fist squeezing his heart. Scott can see the horrified realization mirrored on every face in the room. They had been so incredibly lucky.

 

But no. Not every face in the room. Ethan, who up until now had stayed in his corner, looks furious.

 

“So what?” he hisses through clenched teeth and Scott can see Argent tensing and reaching for a weapon.

 

“So what if the thing didn't mean to kill them?! MY BROTHER IS STILL DYING! Why should I care about the feeding habits of a stupid fox? None of this is helping!”

 

He slams his hand against the wall, leaving a sizable dent in the plaster. Argent has to visibly restraints himself from pulling out his weapon and that's where Scott steps in, because the last thing they need now is an all out fight between the former alpha and the hunter.

 

“Ethan.” Scott isn't sure if he succeeds in keeping his tone calm and authoritative, but he has to try anyway. “We're all frustrated here and we all want them to get better. But punching walls won't help. Fighting each other won’t help.” He throws a glare at Argent at that, who’s gun vanishes back to where it came from a few seconds later.

 

“We need to find out what was done to them, so we can reverse it.” He walks over the Ethan, keeping his steps carefully measured and slow as if he was approaching a wild animal. It hits him that that might be exactly what Ethan sees himself as; trapped in a hospital waiting room with people who don't trust him - that he can't trust - waiting for news of his brother who might be dying. It’s no wonder he feels caged. He doesn’t touch him, doesn’t think his touch would be welcomed if he tried. Instead, he looks him straight in the eye and says. “Ethan I promise you, we will do everything we can to fix this. I will make sure of it.”

 

Ethan glares at him, eyes searching and full of barely repressed anger but eventually he nods and looks away. “Fine.”

 

Scott nods too and steps back.

 

The tension in the room is broken by Argent. “There might be something you can do already.” He’s looking at Scott with a calculating stare and Scott knows he isn’t going to lie what will be asked of him.

 

“I’ve heard what happened from all of you. There is only one person left whose story I don’t know, and I think you will have more luck in getting it than anyone else in this room.” The calculating stare turns beseeching at the words but Scott finishes the thought before Argent has to say any more.

 

“Stiles. You want me to talk to Stiles.” As if he wouldn’t if he could but Stiles has been as elusive as the loch ness monster lately. “I wish I could help you with that, but he won’t return my calls either. I haven’t seen him since that night, actually.” His annoyance must be obvious but no one comments on it.

 

Lydia shakes her head. She looks just as annoyed as Scott feels. “He hasn’t been returning any calls at all. Most I got was a two minute conversation with his dad. Which wasn’t awkward at all.”

 

“Yeah, well. Now we have an actual reason to bother him, so I’ll find a way to stop ignoring me.” Scott steels his resolve. Stiles has been avoiding them all but he won’t be able to keep it up forever. That said… “There is the memorial coming up next week. The sheriff will be there, maybe Stiles will be, too. If I can’t get him to talk to me then that would probably be the best time to try.”

 

Argent nods. He looks desperate and tired and it’s striking to see the exhaustion so clearly on a man who usually hides his emotions so well. “I’ll be there.” he says.

 

And that, it seems, is that.

 

**~*~**

 

Before they head home, his mom uses her magical access card to let him, Lydia and Ethan into Allison’s and Aiden’s rooms. They go to see Allison first.

 

The image of her lying motionless and pale as she bled under the moonlight was still burned in his memory. Seeing her surrounded by sheets barely a shade whiter than her, stuck to machines to keep her alive, is somehow even worse. They can’t stay more than a few minutes. Scott feels grateful and guilty at the same time, but he’s not sure he could have borne the sight much longer. She looks so fragile. Lydia squeezes her hand and kisses her on the forehead before they leave.

Seeing Aiden is easier in some ways, but far worse in others. It isn't a secret that Scott doesn't care for the twins the same way he cares for his pack, but that does not mean he wants them dead or that he doesn’t care for them at all. Aiden and Ethan are passionate souls. The former alphas have caused no small amount of trouble in the past. No one can deny that they have been trying their best to be helpful, though. Their methods might be unorthodox and more violent than Scott can ever see himself be comfortable with, but he is not blind. What the twins crave is a place to belong. Scott can't begrudge them that.

 

What’s striking him the most when they enter the room somehow isn’t Aiden  - it’s Ethan. Scott has never seen him act this vulnerable. He’s hesitant at first but at both Scott’s and his mom’s encouraging nod he approaches the bed and gingerly sits down on the edge. Gently stroking the hair away from Aiden’s face he leans closer to him and whispers so quietly that Scott is sure he wasn’t meant to hear it.

 

“I’ll get you better. I promise I will. So don’t go dying on me in the meantime, you hear me? Don’t you dare.”

 

Scott swallows and has to turn away. That Aiden has been injured, almost died, in a fight not his own twists his guilty conscience, even if it had been Derek and not Scott himself who had gotten the twins to help. They could have run. They could have left them to their own devices easily. No one would have blamed them. Instead, they had willingly put their lives on the line to help Scott save his best friend.

 

Now Scott sees Aiden here - lying in a hospital bed, pale and unmoving, face twisted in pain even as he sleeps. He sees Ethan blinking away tears as he rises and turns back to them and Scott decides right then that he will take responsibility for them now. If they still wanted to be part of his pack, he would accept them and all the trouble they would bring. They had earned their place and his trust. It’s time he starts acting like it too.

 

He grabs Ethan’s shoulder as he passes to get his attention. “We will do everything we can to help him. You don’t have to do this on your own.”

 

The suspicion and disbelieve in Ethan’s eyes are hardly surprising, but Scott thinks he also sees a hint of gratitude and maybe even a spark of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in no way a medical professional. None of this is real and everything is made up, also magic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we see more of Scott, Stiles returns to school and the Nogitsune makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More thanks again to my amazing beta, who I love with all my heart and who made this not suck.

**~*~**

 

**Scott**

 

Something is off about Scott's best friend.

 

Not that that's a surprise to anyone, least of all Scott. Being possessed by an evil fox spirit, and then barfed out back into existence, in a tangle of almost-a-century-old bandages, by your own possessed body, would take a toll on anyone. Not to mention the things said spirit had done with said body, both before and after the split. Even Stiles won't be able to just bounce back from that, they all know it.

 

In the aftermath of the fight at the school, none of them had bothered to pretend they were fine. Allison was still in the ICU, fighting for her life with a stab wound through her side. Nobody had known what exactly happened to Aiden - they still don’t - but he was unconscious and bleeding black blood out of his ears and mouth when they found him. His heart was beating too slow and he wasn’t healing or waking up so they took him to Deaton. Who - being uncharacteristically direct for once - told them that he had absolutely no idea what was happening to the half-of-an-alpha turned omega/enemy turned almost-ally. With the amount of wolfsbane in his blood, Aiden shouldn't have been dying only because he should already have been dead. Though no one is stupid enough to say that out loud where Ethan or Lydia can hear, and with Lydia's banshee hearing that might as well be everywhere. So, they took Aiden to the hospital, and that was an another complete mess. The place was bustling like a beehive, even more so than usual, and there were blood splatters painting the walls like morbid modern art. They tried to leave Aiden with Scott’s mom and that's when Scott found out that she had been hurt by the Oni and about the poison on their blades that had seemingly vanished with the Nogitsune. That explained a lot, but it didn’t explain why Aiden wasn’t healing, if the poison should have vanished already.

 

Stiles had sent out a mass text to the Pack and everyone else who might come looking for him as soon as he got home that day. Scott didn’t get to read it until after he got home himself. He left Ethan, Derek, Isaac and Chris Argent to stay at the hospital and deal with the details. Later, he'd find out that they got Aiden settled in the hospital, half a corridor away from Allison and two other people who were still breathing, but wouldn't wake up after the attack was over. There would be another person coming in from the police station later that night with the same symptoms.

 

The text Stiles sent reads:

 

**Chat with: Stiles Stilinski, 11|15|2011**

 

**[received, 20:43] I'll be taking some time off from school. Please just let me be alone for a while. I'll be back eventually. @Scott &Lydia: Call me if something drastic happens.**

 

**[sent, 22:47] Is it okay if I keep texting you? Just once a day or so? I know you're not okay and I'll do whatever you need but I need to know you're at least still where I think you are**

 

**[received, 22:51] fair I guess. tho I'm not sure if I'm even up for leaving the house atm**

 

**[sent, 22:52] If you need anything at all just tell me and I'll be there you know that, right?**

 

**[received, 22:57] yeah, Scotty. I know. Will do.**

 

He stares at the chatlog now, unsure what to do. He promised Argent to talk to Stiles, but that is turning out to be a rather difficult task. Stiles won’t talk to him. The fact that Stiles won’t talk to anybody doesn’t make it hurt any less. On top of everything else, if there is even a chance that Stiles might have some information that could save Aiden and Allison, then Scott needs to know.

 

Instead, there has been almost complete radio silence for a week. Stiles still answers his texts. Short, one sentence replies that read “still alive” or similar, but rarely anything more substantial. He hasn’t accepted or returned any calls past the first one, which he ended with “Please don't call again unless it's an emergency.” Scott is getting continuously more annoyed though, because this _is_ an emergency and yet here is Stiles, not answering his phone. However, Scott also doesn’t feel like the topic of ‘hey do you remember when your evil clone almost killed our friends? Yeah, tell me all about it.’ should be brought up over text.

 

Eventually, Scott has to phone the sheriff to get answers on how Stiles is doing. Badly, is what he goes told. Stiles has nightmares, he barely eats. He tore down his clue wall, said he needed to clear his head and hasn't left his room since. He considers asking him to talk to Stiles, but the sheriff hangs up before Scott can get the words out.

 

After about a week of this, Derek says he'll “stop by to check on him” which Scott reads to mean “I'll creepily watch Stiles through his window to make sure he's still alive.” He knows that Stiles wouldn't approve, but he’s worried enough to tell Derek to go ahead anyway.

 

**Chat with: Derek Hale, 11|21|2011**

 

**[received, 21:19] He's alive. looks like death though. Somethings off about him.**

 

**[Sent, 21:28] what do you mean?**

 

Derek types and deletes for a whole ten minutes after that question, which does nothing to settle Scott's already strained nerves.

 

**[received, 21:39] he looks calmer but smells more tense. The rest is weird. I can't explain. You'd have to see.**

 

**[sent, 21:44] Well that's not going to happen until he actually lets me talk to him. His dad called btw. Sheriff says to tell you that, “while he doesn't particularly feel like arresting you again, people creepily staring at his son through his window is not something he's very fond of usually.” You are, once again, being asked to use the door or the phone like a normal person.**

 

**[received, 21:46] noted. You are aware that you are a werewolf and he cannot actually keep you from seeing him, right?**

 

Scott leaves it at that because getting into a discussion on personal space and boundaries with Derek Hale had always been futile and would forever remain so. If Scott forced his way into Stiles’ space before he was ready to talk, there would simply be no talk and Scott couldn't afford that.

 

**~*~**

 

A few days after that, the memorial is held, for the people hurt and killed in the ‘yakuza terrorist attacks’ at the station and the hospital. The sheriff had been asked to speak and so it's the first time in almost two weeks that Scott has the hope to see his best friend in person. Scott keeps away from the bulk of the crowd, listening to the sheriff’s speech about morals, mourning and standing together in times of need. It's a good speech, but Scott doesn't retain any of it. His focus is elsewhere. Because there, all in black and half hidden in the shadows of a tree, is Stiles. If he weren't a werewolf with senses enhanced to the point of it being ridiculous, even knowing Stiles would be there, Scott wouldn't have noticed him.

 

He sees what Derek meant almost immediately. Stiles is different now, in some ways. Something has shifted about him. He looks the same, well maybe he's a bit paler. He has the same moles, the same scars as before. He smells the same too and just having that familiar scent in his nose again calms some of the anxiety that's been eating at Scott. ‘Stiles is here, so all is well’ is a instinctive reaction that he likely will never be able to unlearn.

 

It doesn't mean he can't see that something is off. Stiles wears at least two layers more than everyone else there and sunglasses, which he shouldn't have a need for on a gray November afternoon. Scott didn't even know he owned a pair.

 

He still fidgets, more like twitches actually, like he wants to fidget and stops himself last second. And stop he does. Stiles holds himself so still that he blends into the shadows. He looks like a statue. At times Scott can't even make out if he's breathing until he twitches again, though he knows he must be. It's unsettling, to see this stillness in his best friend who used to be a hurricane contained in human flesh.

 

Now he acts like a shadow. Somehow darker and half a step removed from the reality surrounding him.

 

He calls out for him, but doesn’t want to raise his voice too much and it seems Stiles doesn’t hear. So he decides to talk to Stiles after the ceremony is over. But in the few seconds he's turned away to tell his mum and Isaac that he'll be along later, Stiles has vanished.

 

His best friend is getting frighteningly good at this whole ‘avoiding all social interactions’ thing and Scott is half out of his mind with worry while the rest of him feels so helpless and frustrated that he wants to scream. He shakes his head like he wants to clear water out of his ears and clenches his hands into fists. Takes a few deep breaths. He pulls out his phone and types what must be the hundredth text he's sent Stiles this week.

 

**Chat with: Stiles Stilinski, 11|25|2011**

 

**[sent, 17:56] saw you at the memorial today. Wanted to talk to you but you were already gone. Are you doing any better? Please call me back.**

 

**[received, 17:56] Not really I guess. I'll be back at school soon though. Can't keep avoiding things forever.**

 

**[sent, 17:57] I'm sorry. I wish this never happened.**

 

**[received, 17:57] yeah well if wishes were horses and all that.**

 

**[received, 18:01] I'll be back on Monday. If I miss any more school I'm not sure I'll pass this term and this furry asshole doesn't get to take that too. Seriously, if it steals my body least it could do is do my econ homework for me. This is just rude.**

 

He can't help but to laugh a bit at that.

 

**[sent, 18:17] no manners these body snatchers. Good thing we got rid of it. See you Monday then. :)**

 

He wants to write so much more than that, but experience tells him that Stiles won't answer if he doesn't want to. With how avoidant he's been lately, Scott doubts he'll get the talk he knows they need until he can physically corner Stiles somewhere. So it will have to wait until Monday. He texts the Pack and tells them not to crowd Stiles the second he sets foot in the school parking lot, that he'll deal with it.

 

He needn't have worried. Monday morning sees Stiles Stilinski walking into the classroom and sitting down at his table as if nothing unusual had happened at all. Stiles is still dressed too warm, even for late November, and he's still wearing the sunglasses. When the teacher asks him to remove them he just says “sorry, migraine” and ignores her, focusing on his class work instead. Scott is honestly envious of the amount of composure Stiles is showing. Maybe he's not outwardly nervous but there is a tightness in his jaw that tells Scott all he needs to know.

 

He moves differently too. Scott noticed it before, but it's more obvious now when he sees Stiles in motion and not standing still like something carved from marble. It's an uncanny thing and it sends a shiver down his spine. This used to be a boy who didn't know what to do with his limbs, arms flailing and tripping over air more often than not. ‘Clumsy’ and ‘Stiles’ should be synonymous. Not so much anymore it seems. Instead, Scott is faced with a man in such straining but _perfect_ control of his body, it's uncanny even to a werewolf. Scott remembers this, because he's done it himself, when he first became a werewolf and realized how much his strength could hurt people if he wasn't careful. Stiles has no supernatural enhancements to explain his behavior, or at least not the way Scott and the other shifters do. Instead, he uses all his clearly superhuman focus on keeping himself under control, for no reason. Stiles is human, but now he knows what it is not to be. The sort of control he's displaying would be amazing, breathtaking even, if it wasn't so terrifying. Scott feels like the air is stuck in his throat anyway, because no one can keep that sort of thing going forever and Stiles is already fraying at the edges.

 

The sheriff explained Stiles’ disappearance to the school by claiming a family emergency. It doesn't explain the filed missing persons report, but by then so many theories have sprung up about that, that they don't really need an excuse for this part of the story. It's always better to let people make up their own tales, anyway. He's just glad that no one found out about Stiles’ brief stay at Eichen House. That would have been a disaster. He makes a mental note to thank Malia for her slightly uncharacteristic digression when he sees her next. Then again it's possible that she just didn't see the point in telling anyone if they didn't ask, and why would they ask? As far as the rest of the school is aware, Malia and Stiles don't even know each other.

 

Stiles is quiet in class. He talks less than he used to, doesn't talk at all really. Where he used to verbally rip people to shreds in PolSci discussions now he doesn't even participate. If he does talk, it's only for light conversation. Small talk, easy, half-hearted jokes, and questions about schoolwork or what's for lunch. It's not because Stiles has nothing to say; Scott watches him stop himself from from saying something six times before they even start their lunch break. He wields the sharp edges of his wit more carefully now. He acts as if now that he's realized how deep his words can cut, he's afraid of going too far.

 

“ _This isn't you, Stiles.”_

 

“ _It is now.”_

 

He's stepping on eggshells and trying to fade into the background, like he doesn't trust himself around them. Like he doesn't expect them to trust him either, afraid of what they'll do when they realize what he's capable of. As if Scott doesn't know already. Stiles had always been sharp edged and filled to the brim with dangerous potential. He's never hidden it before. He hadn't needed to either, because people never wanted to see, it got drowned out under sarcasm and easy banter. Stiles was never the weakest link in the pack. What he lacked in physical strength he made up for with sharp wit and cold efficiency.

 

What Stiles is doing now is so unlike his friend that it takes Scott almost the entire day to figure out what Stiles is trying to do: Underselling himself. Trying to seem like less of a threat. It should be hilarious, should be downright ridiculous, for the only human in his Pack to hide his ‘claws’ from the others, but Scott only feels sad. Stiles was never modest and this guilty smallness he's showing now, hiding in a shell that should not be there, is entirely out of character. Because Scott does know what Stiles is capable of, that he can be vicious and ruthless and downright diabolical if pushed, but Stiles could never hurt them, not willingly. It seems the only one doesn't believe that, is Stiles himself.

 

“ _You've really gotta learn, Scott. You really gotta learn not to trust a fox.”_

 

Despite Stiles newfound tendency to vanish into shadow like he was made to do it, Scott finally gets him alone in the parking lot after school. Stiles has missed quite a bit of school, so he's been pulled aside by every teacher so far and settled with about a million make up assignments. There's no lacrosse on Mondays, but Coach still wants to speak to him. Probably about his many unexplained absences lately. By the end of the conversation, Scott has no idea what he just agreed to do, but it's over fast, which is what he wanted. It means that Scott gets out of the school building about three seconds before Stiles does. He may or may not use superhuman speed to be at Stiles’ jeep before his friend gets out of his last teacher meeting.

 

Stiles sees him waiting and Scott can hear his sigh from halfway across the parking lot, even without werewolf hearing. He doesn't try to avoid him though, which has to be a good sign. It turns out that that is something Scott can’t bring himself to appreciate, however. It’s been _two weeks_.

 

“So are we gonna talk now?” Stiles says once he reaches the car.

 

Scott shifts uncomfortably, but nods. There is a moment of silence, then Stiles puts his book bag into the back of the jeep, closes the door and turns back to look expectantly at Scott.

 

“If you ask me how I'm feeling, I will punch you, fair warning.” He looks like he actually might. Scott almost smiles because this is something he knows.

 

“I'm pretty sure that would hurt you more than me,” he says. “and it's not what I was going to ask anyway, so we won't have to test that theory either.”

 

“You're just saying that because you don't want to lose your teeth.” There's a hint of a smile on Stiles’ face too and seeing it makes Scott's heart beat faster.

 

"Maybe, maybe not. If I did lose my teeth, it would make it harder for you to understand me." That seems to be the wrong thing to say. Immediately, Stiles’ guard is up again.

 

"Maybe that's what I'm aiming for.” He bites out. “Maybe I really don't want to have this conversation.”

 

"Stiles."

 

His tone is sharp and Scott is sure that, behind the dark lenses, Stiles’ eyes are flashing with challenge in return. "No, seriously. Look, I’m glad to see you, but why do we have to talk about it? It's over. We're fine. You're fine! I'm fine! Everyone is..."

 

He stops and sucks in a sharp breath. Scott can see the exact moment when realization hits. The way Stiles stops, all fight draining out of him, feels oddly wrong. Scott can almost hear his friend think their names. Allison. Aiden. It's painful to watch.

 

Stiles hisses through clenched teeth and turns his face away. Finally a bit of the facade is crumbling.

 

“Alright, yeah. We're not fine. You think talking will help? Great. Let's talk."

 

"Thank you."

 

Stiles crosses his arms and just looks at Scott, waiting. Does Stiles know how exhausted he looks? Scott rakes his eyes over his friend, taking in every detail. Now that they are standing so close, he looks even paler than before. He looks sick. The rings under his eyes are so large that Scott can see them even through those weird sunglasses.

 

"I told you some of the things already. I'm not sure what you want me to say.” Stiles says eventually. It's hard to pinpoint what Stiles is looking at, but Scott is fairly sure that it's not his face. He’s biting his lower lip with what could be nervousness or anticipation. Scott gets that much at least. Now that he has Stiles in front of him he’s nervous too.

 

“I... I didn't want to have this conversation over texts and you wouldn't call me back so... But it's been almost two weeks and I can't put it off anymore. It's not just about you, though I do want to make sure you’re alright and you can punch me for that later if you really feel you need to. But there’s also Allison and Aiden- they are-” After hounding after Stiles in whatever way he could think of for so long, now Scott doesn't even get to finish his question.

 

“My dad already asked me.” Stiles interrupts. His voice has taken on a tone that Scott can’t remember hearing before. It sounds hollow, empty. Dead.

 

Arms still crossed in front of him, Stiles keeps his shoulders straight as he continues. “I don't remember it all. Or well, I do but that’s sort of the problem here. Look, I don't...” He interrupts himself and runs a hand through his hair before going on. “There are some things I just. I can't think about them. I don't want them to suffer any more than you do, but I _can't_. I did this to them, Scott.” He can’t even bring himself to say their names, Scott notes.

 

“It wasn't...” Scott tries but he’s interrupted again.

 

“STOP TELLING ME THAT IT WASN'T ME! You, my dad, everyone keeps saying that, but you don’t get it! It doesn't fucking matter! Those were my hands, these are my memories now. It doesn't matter if I wanted it or not, I did it! I did it. I did.” Scott is shocked to see there are tears running down Stiles' cheeks.

 

Stiles lifts a hand to angrily wipe them away. He spits out his next words as if they were poison.

 

“I'm not fine. I'm not sure if I'm ever going to be fine again. We opened a door in our minds. That's what Deaton said, isn't it? Well, this feels like that, but a hundred times worse. It's like my head is flayed open and raw and there's nothing I can do about it. And because I can't deal with it they - Allison and Aiden have to suffer - Because of me! - and it's not fair to them and it's not fair to me and it's not fair to _anyone,_ Scott!”

 

Stiles is shaking now, none of that eerie stillness from earlier. The scent of anger, frustration and guilt cling to him like fungus clings to a wet wall. Scott had worried about him from a distance for too long; he had no idea things had gotten this bad. He should have. He can't let this remain as it is. Scott and Stiles have never done as well when they've been apart as they do when they are together.

 

“There's no manual for this.” Stiles goes on, voice rough and unsteady. “No twelve step program. No one has survived possession by a Nogitsune before, or if they did they never documented it. Believe me, I've checked. I'll either get better or I won't, but we won't know until it happens. And what's going on with the others? I've found absolutely nothing. Not a hint. I have no clue how to undo what I did.”

 

Unable to think of a way to make Stiles believe him, Scott swallows another remark that _it wasn’t Stiles_ because it obviously wouldn’t be appreciated. Instead, he says “You’ve been researching?”

 

That earned him a glare. “Of course I've been researching. Research is kind of my thing. I might be crazy but I’m not quite useless yet. Or maybe I am because I’ve found nothing. Nogitsune lore might as well be nonexistent.” he slumps. “I’m sorry Scott, but I don’t think there is anything I can do.”

 

Scott's heart clenches. He remembers Stiles asking him a few months ago what he should do if this was it. If things would never get better again. Scott is starting to wonder about that himself.

 

“I know you know this already, Stiles, but no one expects you to be fine right away. You have all the time you need. But, come on man. I'm your best friend. I want to help. You didn't deserve what happened to you, none of us did. What happened to Allison and Aiden? That's not your fault. Argent just wants to know if there is anything you remember that could help." He reaches out for Stiles, but he slaps his hand away with enough force that it actually stings. He’s shaking with anger.

 

"That's nice Scott. A nice sentiment. No, really. I still hear Its voice in my head all fucking day. I can't seem to get warm no matter what I do. My nightmares keep the entire street up half the time. I can't even hold a fucking conversation without…” With a humorless laugh he breaks off. “Yeah, but it's nice to know I didn't deserve it. It's not my fault! Great! How does that help anyone?" The hand he just used to slap Scott’s away shoots up again, and Scott can't stop himself from flinching back. Stiles freezes, looks at his hand, then seems to fold into himself like a house of cards.

 

“Sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. You don’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

 

One slow step forward and Scott lays his hand on Stiles' shoulder. This time, Stiles just looks at him blankly. For a moment they stand like that, unmoving, before Stiles slowly let's his head sink onto Scott's shoulder.

 

“I'm just so sick of being broken, Scott. I want to feel normal again." he says, voice muffled by the fabric of Scott’s jacket.

 

"Hey, listen to me Stiles? You're not broken. You've been hurt and… and violated and now you're healing. It will take time, but you will get past this, I promise. I'll be there every step of the way. And Aiden? Allison? Don’t worry about them. They’re stable for now. It’s true, anything you remember might help, but it doesn’t have to be _now._ You can take a few more days. It won’t make a difference."

 

His only answer is silence. Completely fixated on Stiles, he watches him slowly calm down. His breathing evens out, and he stops shaking after a while. His heart beats a steady rhythm. They keep standing there in the empty parking lot, just breathing and listening to the other breath.

 

Eventually Stiles steps back, so Scott does too.

 

Stiles sighs. “Don’t coddle me Scott. I’ve taken too long already, I know it. I’ll tell you what I know, if you don’t ask me how I know it, deal? Because that’s the part I really don’t want to have to think about, ever, if I can.” Stiles shivers as he says it. Once again, Scott is reminded that what happened to his friend left scars - invisible ones, that might never fade.

 

He nods slowly. “Alright. Deal.”

 

Stiles turn his head away. His voice is quiet and it has this emotionless edge again that is so unlike him. “They won’t die, but they also won’t wake up unless they are woken. The Fox wanted them as food, pretty much. It needed them alive for that. So they are preserved, in a sense. Theoretically they could stay in this state forever. What It did to the Oni to make them have this effect… I can’t describe it. It’s not just a poison and it’s not just a curse; It’s both. But it’s also something more. There is another element to it that I just can’t figure out.” Stiles shakes his head, frustrated.

 

“That’s already more than we knew before. I mean, Lydia had figured out that the Oni mostly didn’t mean to kill, but this might help. I’ll talk to Argent and Deaton and maybe…”

 

“Maybe they’ll find something where I haven’t. I hope so, too.” But he doesn’t believe it. There is no need to say it out loud, the thought is painted clearly on his face.

 

He shakes his head again. "If you don’t mind, I’d like to go home now. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? If I remember anything else, I’ll tell you."

 

Scott hums, still deep in thought. "Alright. Do want me to-”

 

"You have enough to worry about, already. And I have a million and twelve make up assignments. I'll talk to you tomorrow. You go makes some calls. Call me if there is any change. I promise I’ll pick up this time."

 

Scott nods and allows himself a tentative smile.

 

Maybe, with this, they will find a cure. Stiles has let him back in - lowered his defence, even if it was just a little.

 

Maybe, with time, they'll be okay.

 

**~*~**

**Stiles**

 

It's jarring how easy it is to fall back into the routine that is school life. Stiles thinks it should be harder. People whisper about him in the hallways, but that's neither new nor overly concerning. Usually he'd be making fun of all the crazy rumors going around about him, where he was and why he'd suddenly disappeared and returned a bunch of times.

 

Stiles finds it hard to care about what his classmates think of him. They don't matter.

 

Some people though, they matter - Allison and Aiden matter. Lydia matters. Scott matters.

 

After the talk they've had on Monday, Scott has been a constant presence at his side. He's there with his quiet encouragements and his steady soothing presence. He's there as much as he can be between managing a broken pack, lessons with Malia, trying to research a cure for Allison and Aiden, and somehow not failing school. Stiles appreciates his presence almost as much as he appreciates Scott's overworked distraction.

 

Because he's starting to doubt that he actually survived the Nogitsune.

 

The pain is getting worse, but it's nothing compared to the cold. He feels like even his bones are frozen and he's stopped having to suppress his shivering which he knows is a bad sign. It's seeping into him him like an extremely slow kind of hypothermia, and he thanks every deity he can think off that Scott is too busy to notice. If he noticed he would try to fix it, because that's just who he is, but for this, all of Scott's True Alpha powers are useless. There is no fixing him. At this rate he'll be frozen solid before he gets the chance to figure out all the other ways he's been fucked up.

 

He's been trying to remember more, but it's like the memories he needs are walled off. Just out of his grasp but still undeniably there, they tease Stiles with half remembered thoughts and impossible theories. It's frustrating and unhelpful but it distracts him from the pain his body is in.

 

Things don't get better until the moment the freshman in the class next door leans too far back on her chair and hits her head on the wall when she falls. Even then ‘better’ is probably the wrong word to use.

 

Stiles raises his hand when the teacher asks for a volunteer to take the girl to the nurse. Before he even knows what he's doing, or why he's doing it, he has her arm slung over his shoulder and walked her halfway down the hallway. He's never talked to her before, doesn't care for her, he doesn't even know her name. But the girl is dazed, groggy and in pain. Some part of him - a part with sharp teeth and a craving for pain that _should not be there_ \- recognises that he doesn't need to be careful with her. She won't remember, no need to fear what she might see, who she might tell. He looks around, makes sure they’re alone in the corridor. Class won't end for another twenty minutes at least and it’s quiet all around them, no hall monitor in sight. He doesn't know what's going on, he's freezing and half out of his mind, but the voice in his head whispers _“Take what you need”_ and, yes of course, that's what he should do.

 

The girl still has her arm slung over his shoulder and it's easy to lay a hand on her bare wrist and _pull._

 

Black lines of scorching pain travel up his arm almost immediately. He doesn't know what he's doing. He's never done this before and remembers doing it a thousand times over. Why he has this memory and not the one he needs he doesn't know. The sensation is both old habit and never felt before, foreign and oddly familiar. A sharp burst of pain in his skull and then there's burning energy flooding his system. He remembers it being equally more dull and so much more intense when it was Scott’s.

 

When he let's go, the cold has left him.

 

In the back of his mind, his own voice whispers _“well done”._

 

**~*~**

 

He drops the girl of at the nurse's office in a hurry. He doesn't hear how she says she's “feeling much better already. Can't have hit my head that hard after all. It doesn't even hurt anymore. But can you turn the heat up? It's freezing in here!” He's already running down the hall, vanishing into an empty bathroom.

 

He locks himself into the stall furthest from the door and sits down on the toilet lid. His whole body is shaking. He takes a few slow, shuddering breaths, but it does nothing to calm him. The next thought is to count his fingers. It takes him a bit to uncurl his hands from where they are gripping his hair, but he gets it done eventually. There are five fingers on each one, so he must be awake even if his life feels like a nightmare.

 

What just happened? What the hell did he just do? He'd barely even realised what he was doing until it was over. It didn't feel the same as being possessed, not like backseat driving in his own mind. He'd been aware then. This was more like…

 

More like an instinct.

 

Half hysterical he wonders if this is how Scott felt during his first full moon, his body doing things that it really shouldn't be doing and fuck - what's happening to him?! He doesn't return to class for the rest of the day.

 

On the windowsill sits a small, black fly, watching him.

 

**~*~**

 

That night Stiles dreams.

 

He's back at the stump of the Nemeton. The endless white room he's almost gotten used to is not there though, not this time. Instead, darkness surrounds him. There is the almost screeching, rattling noise he's come to associate with the Oni - a chirping, like weird mechanical cicadas. Stiles would know the sound anywhere. Even if he can't see them, they must be lurking in the darkness. He turns, expecting to find glowing yellow eyes glaring at him, but there is only the dark.

 

On the stump there is a game of Go set up. On the far end sits a figure, wearing his face, made from shadows and dust. It moves a crumbling hand and places a black stone on the board.

 

“ _Your move, Stiles.”_

 

Stiles doesn't think. He can't. He just screams. There's nothing else he can do. A crushing wave of helplessness washes over him. The past few weeks his nightmares have been memories, some of which he shouldn't have, but this feels more real than those ever did.

 

“NO! NO, you're not here!” It can't be here. It can't. It can't. It can't! Not here, not now! They caught It. It was gone. They were supposed to be safe!

 

Stiles looks down at his hands, counts out the fingers again. There are five on each hand, but he _must_ be dreaming. He _is_ dreaming, so why isn't he waking up?! He needs to wake up, he needs to-

 

The sound of his own voice cuts through his racing thoughts like a knife. It's cracking and full of static like badly tuned radio.

 

“ _No, no. None of that, now. We're not here to enjoy your panic, though it is tempting. We're here to talk, and to play.”_

 

Stiles shakes his head. He stares at the swirling mass of darkness. Black ashes in the shape of his own face stare back at him with glowing silver eyes.

 

“How are you here? We caught you. We trapped you. I nearly ripped myself in half to get rid of you! So how?!” His voice echoes in the dark, loud, but not loud enough to drown out the Oni.

 

The Other twists it's stolen face into a grimace that might have been called a smile if not for the too sharp teeth that it showed. A foxes grin, it could not be anything other than a threat.

 

“ _Did you really think it would be that easy, Stiles?”_

 

The thing is, Stiles hadn't. It had seemed too clean, too easy. Too unfinished. They had almost lost Allison and Aiden, they might still lose them, but Stiles has had the demon in his head. He knows how It thinks, how much worse the fallout could have been if the Fox had tired a little more. Tried a lot more. He knows the others are only alive now because the Fox wanted them to die slowly.

 

When It took over Stiles’ brain and used it to think, it’s like It left an imprint. There are newer, darker paths in his mind now, for his thoughts travel along. It's half the reason he's been keeping to himself so much, trying to process this new awareness, this sense for pressure points and weaknesses in everyone and everything. It's hard to be a good person, when he can suddenly see everyone's metaphorical open wounds and bright flashing neon signs saying “this is how to break me. DO IT!”. He doesn't want to hurt anyone but damn it, it would be _so easy_.

 

No, he hadn't believed the Fox was truly gone.

 

“ _Yesss, I knew you would be smarter than that, kid. We never truly left. You caught one fly. One little fly out of hundreds, Stiles. We've been here and we've been watching. Now… Make your move.”_

 

Bile rises in his throat, but he swallows it down. This isn't the time to show weakness.

 

“So what now? We do the same thing all over again, only this time we catch all the flies?” He doesn't say what he's really thinking; That it's an impossible task. If what the spirit says is true, he doesn't know how they will ever get rid of it completely.

 

“ _You know that you can't. But that doesn't matter. Your alpha already killed me. He poisoned me with his bite. Now there is a decision that we must make.”_

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“ _Be grateful, Stiles. We will give you a gift, if you can take it from us. Come, now. Play. The. Game.”_

 

Stiles can't think of how to answer to that. He feels like he should be more… Something. Angry, maybe? Appalled? Or panicked like he was before? He knows he wants nothing that the Fox could give him, but he's overcome by a sudden sense of apathy and an itching curiosity.

 

“Are you sure that is a good idea?” He steps forward, sinks down on the remains of the Nemeton and opens the wooden bowl that contains the white stones. “To start another game with me? Last time you lost pretty spectacularly.”

 

“ _Oh yes, we remember your Divine Move, Stiles. We cannot forget. Your alpha does have rather sharp teeth. No, we already know you to be a dangerous player. We are not just playing to beat you this time. Instead we are here to teach. There is much you do not know and little time for you to learn.”_

 

Slow and deliberate, Stiles hand moves, taking one of the polished white stones and setting it on the board. The sound it makes is quiet but it rings with finality. The room grows quiet. Across from him, the Nogitsune smiles. Ash flakes from Its hands and leaves a dark grey dusting on the next stone It places.

 

When Stiles plays his next move, his hands are steady.

 

**~*~**

 

In the morning he wakes up feeling better than he has in weeks. If he had any nightmares he doesn't remember having them.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles is still distant, dreams are had and plans are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who reads this/left kudos/commented; I adore every single one of you guys and thank you so much for this experience. 
> 
> My deepest, never ending thanks once again to [Satan](satandidnothingwrong.tumblr.com) my wonderful beta, who kicks my ass and makes this story not suck.

**~*~**

  **Scott**

 

A tiny alarm bell starts ringing in the back of Scott's head as he watches Stiles guide a half conscious girl down the hallway. It's such an innocent thing and Scott hates to think badly of his friend, but something about that picture just isn't right. Stiles loves to be helpful, that's not what has Scott so stumped. It's the way he rises from his seat when the teacher asks for someone, wordless and calm, the way he looks at the girl, expression blank and uncaring, that is _wrong_.

 

Stiles has had a lot of things on his mind lately. He's had a hard enough time just being himself; he still barely talks. He said he feels broken and rubbed raw.

Scott loves his best friend, loves him fiercely, but he knows Stiles isn't this selfless. Even if this is just a small gesture, Stiles rarely does things without some sort of ulterior motive to it. Certainly never for someone he doesn't care about and Scott has never seen him talk to that girl before. Something is off kilter here, but Scott's entire world has been of kilter for so long that he can't put a finger on it. (It’s a lie. There are suspicions he has, that he pushed too far away from his thoughts to reach them now. Stiles is Stiles is Stiles is _Stiles_ and Scott will hear, will _think_ , no different.)

 

When he doesn't return for the rest of the day, Scott assumes that his friend might have used the girl as an opportunity to get out of school quicker. He walks over to the nurse’s office during lunch break either way. Stiles isn't there and the girl is apparently fine and already back in class. It makes him antsy. He hates how little he's seen of Stiles lately, and if the constant disappearances are going to become a regular thing, Scott isn't sure he’ll be able to handle it.

 

So after school, he drops by the Stilinski’s house. As he pulls up, he sees Stiles old jeep Roscoe parked in front of the house. Something unclenches in his chest, but at the door he's met with a tired looking sheriff who tells him that Stiles is sleeping.

 

“I'll tell him you asked about him. I don't really know what happened today either. When I came home he was already asleep. Didn't even know he'd missed half a day. Do you know why he left?” Scott sees his own worry reflected on the sheriff’s face and it is reassuring to know that he isn't the only one who gets anxious when he doesn't know where Stiles is.

 

He shifts from one foot to the other and frowns. “I really don't. He was fine this morning. Well as fine as he gets lately. He was a bit absent in class, but I didn't think it was anything to worry about.”

 

The sheriff nods. “Maybe it wasn't. For now I'll let him sleep. I'll ask him about it when he wakes up. And Scott? Thank you, for looking out for him.”

 

Scott hesitates before speaking next, but he's been hesitant for too long. Stiles had asked that they give him space and Scott had done it, but it doesn't seem to have helped. It's not in his nature to leave a friend who is hurting to deal with his problems on his own. It's his saviour complex rearing its head again, he knows, but he doesn't see what's wrong with wanting to help. So he straightens up and asks. “Can I see him? I won't wake him, but I… ”

 

The sheriff raises an eyebrow, but then steps aside like he's been waiting for the question. “Thank you.” Scott mumbles as he walks through the door. Maybe the sheriff understands better than he thought.

 

As he walks up the stairs, he can hear Stiles’ steady breathing and strong heartbeat through the closed door. He opens it and slips into the room silently. Stiles is fast asleep, laying on his stomach, face hidden in the pillow. The covers are bunched up at the foot of the bed and he's still in the clothes he wore to school, hasn't even taken his shoes off. It looks like he just flopped down onto the bed and fell asleep instantly. The unnatural stillness has left him, though. In his sleep, Stiles twitches and shivers. He looks more like his old self this way, Scott thinks. He also looks cold.

 

Slowly, as to not to disturb his friend, Scott walks up to the bed. He slides Stiles’ shoes off and places them on the floor. Then he grabs the blanket and draws it up to Stiles’ shoulders who sighs in his sleep and shifts a bit.

 

Scott lowers himself onto the bed and sits down next to Stiles, runs a hand through over his friend’s hair and soaks up his warmth. He won't stay long. He has other responsibilities to deal with, but it was good to be allowed this close again. They've always been tactile, more so than their other friends. Would that he could explain it by claiming werewolf instincts, but it's been this way since they were children. They just never outgrew their cuddling phase.

 

As if to prove it for him, Stiles shifts again, nuzzling Scott's hand, but he doesn't wake up. He's not usually this heavy of a sleeper, so maybe getting some actual rest will do him good.

 

For a few more minutes, Scott watches the slow rise and fall of Stiles’ back, counts the beats of his heart and reveals in the fact that they are both there and together.

 

Then he gets up and goes to face the real world again.

 

**~*~**

 

Malia arrives at his house almost on time. It’s one of the things they’ve been working on. After measuring time by the path of the sun and the changing of the seasons for so long, living by a clock doesn’t come easy to her. Scott hadn’t realized how much of the human life runs on a schedule every day until Malia started complaining about it. “Everything has a time and a place, here. All things must be done in the right order. It’s so confusing! Why does it matter when I do something as long as it gets done?”

 

It’s hard to argue with her logic sometimes, but Scott does his best. Once again he feels the absence of Stiles like a stab in a chest because he just _knows_ that he’d know how to deal with Malia. Stiles looks at the world and all it’s crazy bits and finds - maybe not sense, but at least function in it. Whereas Scott fumbles to explain why basic concepts like punctuality are important for human interaction. “When you aren’t where you were expected to be you make life harder for everyone who was waiting for you.”

 

“Well, I think it’s stupid. But I guess I get it. It’s just one of the things I’m going to have to live with now, isn’t it?” She sounds annoyed when she says it. He doesn’t blame her, and she _is_ trying, but they are both getting frustrated. There is so much for her to learn and Scott finds that he isn’t the greatest teacher. He suddenly feels a flash of sympathy for Derek. Having to deal with four newly turned wolves in just a few months must have sucked. Then again, he had turned three of them himself, so he had sort of been asking for trouble.

 

Sometimes, Isaac helps too, if he’s around. The few times that he is with them, and not at the hospital, they tend to focus more on the physical aspects of being a shifter. Malia has little to no issue with the enhanced senses or with knowing her strength. What she lacks is control over the shift as such.

 

She no longer has trouble shifting at will. She has good instincts, but had been trying too hard to force the shift. Desperation had turned her tense and tension made the change impossible. Now that she has learned how to do it, what she needs to learn next is to _not_ shift unless she actually wants to. Isaac has been an incredible help in that regard.

 

Scott hesitated to put Malia through the same ‘training’ that Stiles had devised for him when he had first changed. He just couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that tying her up and hitting her with lacrosse balls until she learned not to shift at every annoyance was a good idea. Isaac though, can be incredibly irritating when he wants to be, as Scott can attest to from personal experience. So Scott lets them spar and stays close to intervene should things go to far.

 

Isaac is mocking and sarcastic and blunt as always and Malia responds with snarls and glowing, electric blue eyes. That isn’t unexpected, but not exactly something she will be able to explain should it happen in public. At least he hasn’t needed to stop them from killing each other, not yet.

 

**~*~**

 

The next day Stiles comes to class without three layers and a sweatshirt under his jacket. The bags under his eyes are still there, but they look much less pronounced; more visible though because he finally ditched the sunglasses. He seems to be doing better, and Scott is so relieved that he forgets to asks why Stiles left early the day before.

 

Even if he had remembered, he wouldn’t have had the chance to talk to him anyway. Stiles is focused in class, impossible to find during breaks and he doesn’t show up for lunch where Scott meets the others.

 

He isn’t the only one though. Ethan is sitting with Danny at a table away from the rest of them. They talk in hushed whispers, what about Scott can only guess. He meets Ethan’s eyes for a brief moment, but they both turn away quickly. Since their almost confrontation in the hospital, they have only talked a few times, but Scott thinks they are learning to get along better.

 

The cafeteria, with its many different sounds and smells, is still overwhelming to Malia, or at least that’s what she said to Scott when she told him she’d be eating lunch elsewhere. It might not be such a bad idea. Should she lose control, a crowded high school cafeteria at lunch time would be one of the worst places for it to happen.

 

With a tray in his hands, Scott slides into a chair next to Kira who is already deeply immersed in conversation with Lydia. Isaac arrives not a few seconds latter, sitting down next to Lydia, across from Scott. The girls both look tired. Lydia has hidden the shadows under her eyes under a discrete layer of makeup - no one will ever see Lydia Martin leave the house looking anything less than perfect. Her eyes though are dull and exhausted. Kira doesn’t look much better. The two of them have been up all night, researching and comparing notes, trying to find a way to cure Allison and Aiden.

 

Scott checks his phone again. Still no news. He's waiting to get word from Deaton, but as it turns out even his vast, if usually somewhat vague, amount knowledge has come up short. All the former emissary could tell them is that it's not a curse. Not in the traditional sense at least. It’s not a spell or an enchantment either but according to Deaton there are more than enough poisons that would put a person in an unresponsive state like this - mundane and magical both. However, none of them would affect werewolves the same way as humans.

 

They had known that already, though. Since Stiles had told them that it was a combination of both poison and curse their search hadn’t gotten any easier. In fact, it might have gotten harder for there are infinite amounts of possible combinations and they need to find the exact right one if they want to reverse what has happened.

 

“So, I’ve talked to my mom.” says Kira. There is an edge in her voice when she does, suggesting that her relationship with her parents might still be somewhat strained. Scott decides to leave it for now. He can ask her about it later. “She says that she has heard of this happening before, but she doesn’t know how to reverse it either. She promised me to ask around but she didn’t seem very hopeful. I don’t think she knows that many people she could ask, honestly. Kitsune are typically rather teritorial and don’t get along well with each other, or so she says. That might just be her, I mean, I haven’t had that problem yet, but it means that she doesn’t have many contacts in the community. If there even is a community. I somehow doubt that there are Kitsune conventions going on around the world, but I guess you never know.”

 

Lydia cuts her off with a sharp “Kira” that somehow manages to sound both fond and exasperated at the same time. “You’re rambling again. What else did your mom tell you? Anything useful?”

 

Kira sighs, shaking her head. “Sorry. No, nothing useful, but she asked about Stiles a lot. I guess she feels guilty about what happened to him. I couldn’t really answer her any questions though. I haven’t talked to him at all since this all happened.” She turns to look at Scott who shakes his head.

 

“He’s doing better. I’m sure he’ll be back on his feet soon enough.” He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince more - his friends or himself, but they at least seem happy enough to take his word for it. Scott on the other hand, isn’t so sure. Nothing has felt right to Scott since that first, panicked phone call and his desperate search for Stiles in the freezing night. Now he has him back, but things are still different. Stiles is quiet and distant and _wrong,_ sitting right next to him in class, no more than a few feet away, but feeling entirely untouchable. Scott wants to give him time and crowd into his space and shake him because there is no Scott without Stiles and it feels like Stiles is fading. Just like Aiden and Allison are.

 

“Well in that case,” Isaac says. “I have some good news. The hospital is moving them and the other three coma patients to the open ward. They’ve tested for almost every toxin, virus and bacterium under the sun. All negative, of course. Whatever that thing did to them, it doesn’t look like they’ll figure it out in a hospital lab. Not that that surprises anyone here. Anyway, they’ve lifted the quarantine, so once they’re moved, we’ll be able to visit them more freely.”

 

“That is good news.” Scott says with relief. They haven’t been able to see them much. His mom might have hospital wide access, but if someone found out that she had been sneaking her son and his friends in to see patients that strictly weren’t allowed any visitors, she could lose her job.

 

Lydia manages a real smile at that and Kira looks relieved as well. “That’s great! I’ll finally get to actually see them instead of staring at my phone in the waiting room, hoping for news.”

 

They spend the rest of lunch deciding on who gets to visit the hospital first.

 

**~*~**

  **Malia**

 

It had been easy enough to get Scott to let her go off on her own. She appreciates it a lot. He doesn’t treat her like an eight-year-old girl, like her father does. He lets her make her own decisions and hasn’t as often yet tried to force her into becoming something she doesn’t want to be. He is a good Alpha, Scott McCall; good at leading and protecting as any alpha should be. He’s also very good at giving space when it’s needed, which she also appreciates when it comes to herself, less so when he told her to leave Stiles alone until he approaches them.

 

And that is how Malia finds herself following the scent of the boy who saved her, up the staircase and onto the school roof. There’s probably a stupid rule about them not being allowed to be here. There seem to be stupid rules about everything everywhere and she has a hard enough time navigating the ones that everyone else also sticks to already. If Stiles is up here, and she’s certain that he is, then it at least shouldn’t be more than moderately illegal. She can live with that, for now, if it gets her the conversation she wants.

 

She finds him, sitting on the ledge of the building, slowly eating an apple and staring at nothing. He doesn’t look at her when she sits down next to him. “Hello Stiles.”

 

“Hello Malia. I didn’t think anyone would come looking for me here.” He’s still not looking at her.

 

She huffs, annoyed. “Well, too bad for you. I’m not leaving.”

 

“Yeah I kinda figured.” He glances at her, still doesn’t turn his head but it’s an improvement. “So is there something you needed or…?”

 

“I wanted to thank you.” That, finally, gets her a reaction. He turns to her so quickly he almost tumbles off the roof. She has to grab his arm to steady him and he stares at her with wide eyes. “Please don’t jump off the roof in the face of my gratitude.” Her tone is deadpan, but her heart is racing. How has this boy survived until now, if this is how he walks through life?

 

“Yeah. Can’t have that, can we?” How is he this calm?! She growls. He doesn’t seem to mind, just smiles at her. “Why would you want to thank me? I almost got you killed.” He looks honestly confused. It’s kind of cute and also stupid.

 

“Well if you want to put it that way. I don’t blame that on you. But you also saved me. Oliver was going to drill a hole in my skull and you stopped him. No harm, no foul. No, I wanted to thank you for getting Scott to teach me. He’s not the best teacher in the world I guess, but he’s been helping. Even if he won’t let me tear Isaac to pieces, that annoying little…” Her eyes must be glowing, but Stiles just laughs and shakes his head.

 

“Yes, he can be like that, can’t he? But he’s not actually that bad.” He pauses. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

 

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

 

They fall into a comfortable silence for a while, soaking up the December sunshine and listening to the sounds of the city around them. There is a smell of frost in the air, maybe it will snow soon. It’s almost peaceful and Malia relaxes slowly. So much so, that when the bell rings to call them back to class she startles almost as much as Stiles had earlier. At least she has the grace not to almost fall of the roof. Stiles doesn’t comment, but he does get up and then offers her his hand to help her stand. She takes it, though she doesn’t need to. She notes that his grip is firm, but his hand is cold. She leaves their hands linked for longer than she maybe should. There is something else that had bothered her and now is as good a time as ever to bring it up.

 

“What happened in that basement in Eichen House, not all of it was bad.”

 

Stiles stills. He glances at their locked hands, then looks her in the eye. “No, not all of it was bad. Some of it was even pretty good. Amazing, even.” He agrees, then takes a deep breath and pulls his hand from hers. “But it’s probably not going to happen again.”

 

That should hurt, shouldn’t it? Is this a rejection? It sure sounds like one. There is no hurt though. It’s not like she’s in love with him. They barely even got to know each other. The fact that they found comfort with the other once doesn't mean much in the long run. She can’t even say that she’s surprised. She has seen the way Scott looks at him and seen Stiles’ doomed efforts not to stare right back. She looks him straight in the eye for a long minute or two. They are going to be late, but she couldn’t care less and he doesn’t protest either. Finally, Malia nods.

“Friends, then?” she asks, holding out her hand again.

 

“I’d like that.” He says, grabbing in and shaking it once. The smile he gives her has an edge to it that raises the hairs at the back of her neck, but it’s warm, and Malia finds that she’s okay with that too.

 

**~*~**

  **Scott**

 

 

Stiles actually turns up for lacrosse practice later that day. It's the first time he does, since he returned back to school. Finstock shouts at him for a bit about missing that much training and then ends it with a gruff “Good to have you back, Stilinski. Don’t vanish again!”

 

Scott tells Stiles not to take it too personal. Since he got that arrow through the gut at the cross country trail, Coach has been even more irritable than usual. With their coach as short tempered as he is and three of their players with their head anywhere, but in the game, it's not the best training session they've had. None of their sessions lately have been much good in fact, but nothing supernatural happens, so Scott decides to count his blessings and be glad when it’s over.

 

Halfway through warm up laps, Scott makes a decision. Stiles has been out of it too long. Out of the loop, out of his mind, out of Scott's grasp. He has let the distance fester, and he sees now that it had been a bad decision. So he grabs all his courage and makes up his mind, even if courage shouldn't be needed for this. He's just gonna ask Stiles a simple question. He's done it a million times before.

 

Opening his mouth shouldn't be half as hard as it turns out to be. Scott's teeth are glued together with doubts and indecision. It takes him the rest of training to come up with what to say. It distracts him, makes him sloppy and he catches more than his fair share of Finstock’s anger for it.

 

And suddenly he hates the Fox with a fierce burning anger that has him seeing red and his fangs itching to drop. How dare it! How dare it to try and destroy his oldest, his strongest friendship!? Stiles is one of the last good things Scott has left and the Fox had torn and clawed at their bond and left it frayed. He curls a fist and cuts himself on his own claws. A hiss escapes from between clenched teeth and he curses under his breath, tries to calm down. His grip on the lacrosse stick is so hard that he can hear the the material creak and groans in his hands. It's been harder to control his wolf lately and he doesn't know why. Allison is not his anchor, he's his own anchor. What happened to her shouldn't be affecting him like this. But then again, maybe she isn't the one who threw his wolf out of whack.

 

The wound has long since healed, but even weeks later, if he closes his eyes, Scott can feel the blade twisting in his gut. Without thinking, he lay a hand on his jersey, over the scar on his abdomen. It’s an ugly thing; angry, red and twisted skin, marking him like a brand.

 

As a werewolf, especially as an alpha, things that can permanently mark his body have become rather rare and extremely painful, as he learned when he decided to get a tattoo. This mark, this scar, would stay with him forever as well.

 

It had been agony. Sharp, cutting pain ripping through his entire body _._ The blade had burned and frozen him, worse than anything he’d felt before. He can't stop thinking about how it had felt to have that pain taken from him.

 

The whole day had been a haze of accumulating pain and constantly growing anxiety. First Isaac in the hospital, then Stiles’ return, the trap at the cross country trail, Coach being shot, the bomb - not in the bus, but at the Station - the Oni at the animal clinic, Kira suddenly knocked unconscious and then…

 

All day the pain had been piling up. More and more and more, every time he took it from someone else - Isaac, Coach, that deputy. By the time the sun set it had been deeper than bone-deep, an ache right down to his soul. He could barely concentrate when the Oni came and he got impaled on a sword for his carelessness.

 

He'd stared into Stiles’ eyes as the Fox drummed Stiles’ fingers over the hilt of the katana. He tried to look for remnants of his friend as Stiles’ hand twisted the blade, casually as if it was nothing. His voice, first comforting Scott through his suffering, then sharp and mocking in its absence.

 

The pain and the sudden numbness had been… wonderful in the worst way. The Fox hadn't only taken his pain, it had taken all his negative emotions right with it. His doubt, his worry and anxiety, his fear had vanished and for one single, glorious second there had been absolutely nothing. It had made Scott's head float. He'd felt light and almost dizzy. _Good_ in a way that he can't admit to anyone, can barely even grasp himself. And then the Fox had pulled back Stiles’ hand and while the pain stayed gone, all the emotions had rushed back, stronger than before and enhanced with horror.

 

It had mocked him for it. For being naive enough to trust, too naive to see the truth under its thick veneer pretence. For wanting to think that his friend was still there where he needed him to be.

 

Scott feels small and shameful, knowing that he had enjoyed even just a fraction of what the Fox had done. It felt like he had betrayed Stiles and their twelve absurd years of friendship.

 

Stiles who is brash and rude and sarcastic, who can be callous and hurtful, who is suspicious and selfish and who lashes out, sometimes without reason. Stiles who is loyal and loving, who works himself to the bone when he needs to and sometimes even when he doesn't. Who is diligent and accepting and determined. Who doesn't know how to deal in kindness, neither in giving nor in receiving it. Who cares so deeply that he can’t stand to care about more than a handful of people at all, lest he shatter from the force of it. Scott knows how lucky he is, to be one of those select few.

 

Stiles who climbs through his window in the middle of the night and who drags him out of bed to look for dead bodies in the woods. Who stayed with him during his first full moon even though he knew Scott might kill him. Who stepped into a puddle of gasoline with him and told Scott that if he was going to burn they would burn together. Stiles, who is his best friend, his whole life and so much more than a brother to Scott.

 

Stiles who he loves. Who he's loved for so long he doesn't know what life is without being in love with Stiles Stilinski.

 

Once, Scott had been in love with Allison. He might fall in love Kira, given time, but Stiles is a category all to himself. The love he has for him is written in his bones, scribbled across his heart, etched into the core of his being. It is eternal and unshakable in a way Scott isn't quite sure he is able to comprehend.

 

Scott accepted a long time ago that Stiles will never be more than his friend, but he needs him to be at least that. He cannot stand this new, distant Stiles.

 

He clenches a fist in his shirt over the scar. He cannot live in a world where they are nothing to each other.

 

When coach tells them to go change and go home, it’s a relief.

 

They are in the locker rooms, most of the team damp with sweat and out of breath. Well, Scott isn't and neither is Isaac, but they are werewolves. Higher stamina and increased durability are some of the upsides of her whole glowy eyes and howling at the moon deal.

 

Stiles isn't sweaty either, but he's spent most of practice on the bench again, so that's probably why. Scott watches him vanish into the showers anyway and he doesn’t come out until everyone else is gone. The rest of the team has left and Scott is already dried off and dressed by the time his best friend steps out of the showers. Dressed only in boxers, with a towel around his neck, Stiles looks better then he has in a while. His skin is flushed pink from the hot water, sickly pallor gone for now and the circles under his eyes look more like shadows and less like car tires.

 

He seems almost surprised to find Scott waiting for him. Scott raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't say anything.

 

“I was waiting for all the mirrors to fog up. Don't really like looking at my face anymore. Might’ve used up all the hot water in the school,” he answers the unspoken question.

 

Stiles walks past him and busies himself with going through his locker, looking for a shirt, while Scott is digesting that information. He doesn't look at Scott and that is…

 

Scott's heart clenches. The Nogitsune had hurt all of them, but no one could understand the extent of Stiles’ trauma. This, the possession and the aftermath, was a turning point for Stiles, like being bitten had been for him. Scott stubbornly refuses to think _breaking point -_ Stiles isn't broken. They aren't broken. He will cling to that though as long as he can and he will make it be the truth if he has to. He also won't let Stiles handle it on his own any longer.

 

He reaches out and lays a hand on Stiles’ bare arm. His skin is damp, warm from the shower and solid under Scott's fingers. Once again he notes how good it feels to have Stiles back in reaching distance, even if he still won't meet Scott's eyes.

 

This has been going on for too long. They need to find their way back to normal, or at least their kind of normal. Anything but this painful distance between them.

 

“Hey, I was thinking and… Well. It's been awhile since we did anything together that didn't end in blood or tears.” He winces. That was probably a bad choice of words. He barrels on anyway. “So I thought… how about a movie night? Just the two of us? I'd even let you pick the movie, so long as it's nothing with werewolves in it. I mean it's okay if you don't… It was just a thought and I know you said to give you space but I thought, I don't know, maybe… ” There is absolutely no way that Stiles can’t hear exactly how nervous he feels, but Scott is well past the point of caring.

 

Stiles turns to him, and shakes his head. “No.”

 

Scott's heart sinks, but now that Stiles is actually looking at him he can see that he's smiling. It's a small, shaky, little thing, but it's there and Scott feels like he can breathe again when he didn't know he was drowning.

 

“No, I think I might have had a bit too much space lately. Friday? Dad's working late, we'll have the house to ourselves.”

 

Scott’s smile, in that moment, could outshine the sun.

 

“Friday's perfect.”

**~*~**

 

Friday can't come fast enough, in Scott's opinion. The entire week he's practically vibrating with anticipation, eager to finally have some time alone to repair everything that has been fractured between him and his best friend. He's so tense that he’s having stress dreams. On the night to Thursday he dreams that Peter crashes through his window, rolls on the floor, jumps up and shouts: "This is some serious shit! Pay attention, Scott!" while wearing a purple bunny onesie. The stuffed ears flap as he twirls on the spot once, twice, three times. In a puff of yellow smoke he then turns into Stiles, who immediately starts running. The room around them melts away and they are in the woods, shrouded in a darkness that is too deep even for Scott's wolf eyes. He thinks he briefly sees the Nemeton flashing by, but he can't focus on that because Stiles is vanishing right in front of him and he needs to follow him, needs to catch him, needs to-

 

He can't see anything except for Stiles’ back. He runs and runs and runs, but he's not getting any closer. Stiles waves through bushes and dodges around trees that Scott can't even see before he hits them. He's exhausted, his lungs are burning like they haven't since he's had asthma. He feels like he’s running through molasses. His clothes are torn and the branches cut him like knives where they hit him.

 

When he's on the verge of collapsing, Stiles, still just out of reach, stops, turns and gives him a cruel smile, sharp edged with the fangs of a fox. He leans closer and suddenly Scott can't move. Cold lips burn like ice against his own and honey brown eyes, filled with mischief stare him down.

 

“And now, for our next trick…”

 

The Fox steps back, bows deeply and dissolves into a swarm of flies.

 

Scott wakes, gasping for breath and bathed in cold sweat. As soon as his hands find the switch, he turns on the light, stumbles into the bathroom and turns the tap on as cold as it will go. While he's washing his face and trying to calm his racing heart he hopes that Stiles is dreaming less cruel dreams.

 

**~*~**

  **Stiles**

 

 

Every night, Stiles keeps having the dream of the Fox, the Nemeton and a game of Go. Even if he remembers nothing of them come morning, when he steps up to the board it is as if he never left, as if the waking world is the dream and this his new reality. The days in between the dreams start feeling less solid and more like sleepwalking.

 

He flows in and out of classes like a shadow. Sometimes the edges of his vision blur, as though he’s seeing the world and the people around him through fog, mind hazy and half in trance. His father gets that worried look again and even Lydia noticed, which is to say she stopped Stiles in the hall on Wednesday and told him in no uncertain terms that: “Everyone thinks it, they're just too nice to say something. But you need to hear it, so I will. Stiles, you need to get your act together. This back and forth is driving us all up the walls and we all have more important problems right now. I'm not even sure you know you're doing it. Some days you almost act like nothing happened and then there's days like today where I'm not sure I've seen you blink at all, let alone speak. It's creepy.”

 

Stiles just nods and tells her he'll do better, he's just having a bad few days, it'll be over soon. She doesn't seem to believe him, but that's okay. Stiles doesn't believe himself either.

 

He knows he's acting off, he doesn't need anyone to tell him. It's not like he could have not noticed, even if he tried. Ever since the incident with that girl… She's fine, better than she has any right to be in fact, given the massive concussion she should have had - and isn't that _interesting._ He knows there is something wrong with him. He keeps having flashes of memories that are and aren't his.

 

Of Oak Creek and a woman who called him for a purpose and then tried to kill him, trapped him, _buried him,_ for fulfilling it.

 

Of swords and blood.

 

Of tears and despair.

 

Of madness and rage.

 

Of mischief and play.

 

Of endless destruction and lying in wait and the best tricks ever played.

 

Of other times and other hosts and other lives.

 

Stiles is changing.

 

The game progresses every night. The Fox’ play is erratic, but well practiced. It has known this game for centuries and It’s an experienced player. It is impatient though, placing stones like It's running out of time.

 

On the other side of the board, Stiles plans his moves more slowly. His game is cautious, calculated but flexible. He adapts easily to his opponent's unpredictability, taking over more and more territory. He takes advantage of every misstep the Fox makes in Its haste and manages to see most traps for what they are, but his advance is slow and this game is not something that can be won by caution alone.

 

While they play, the Fox talks. Somewhere along the line the dream lost some of its terror. Stiles still hears the Oni in the dark, still feels wrong - more numb then he should be - but he thinks the Fox is no longer a threat. At least not to him, not directly. When he sees the dark mass of shadow and dust now what he feels is no longer panic, but an odd familiarity. He remembers Kira’s words.

 

_“Nogitsune are mischievous. They're tricksters. They don't really deal in right or wrong or even understand it.”_

 

Stiles can get that. For him, though, it's not a lack of understanding that’s the issue. It's an overabundance of pragmatism. His brain is too active, constantly buzzing with thoughts, scenarios and possibilities. When he's faced with a problem he ends up with the easiest, most practical solution first, no matter if it’s legal or ethical. Doing things the easy way is not always what he wants, though.

 

Disappointing Scott - or worse - his dad is not an option, never was. Stiles wants more than anything to have the approval of the people he loves, few as they are. So he censors himself, he holds back, discards plans and makes new, better ones. He makes sure that no one can see, can even guess at the things he might think to do.

 

And now here is someone just like him but unchained, unleashed, free to play with the world as Its playground and Stiles both aches with jealousy and quivers in fear. If there was no Scott, if his dad wasn't there, this is who he could have been. Human, yes, but just the same as the Fox.

 

He thinks he won't be human much longer.

 

_“You learn fast.”_

 

His opponent is barely keeping a shape at this point. Ash is flaking of It’s form at every twitch and turn. Stiles watches It fall apart with a detached sort of curiosity.

 

“You know you still haven't told me why we're doing this.”

 

 _“Can't you guess?”_ Another stone placed on the board with a ‘clank’.

 

“I know you're dying. I know this is the last remnant of you, your last act. Your last big hurrah before the Void Fox falls into oblivion. A few more days and there won't even be enough left of you to hold the stones.”

 

The somewhat anthropomorphic cloud shivers and more gray dust falls around It. By now Stiles can almost see through It, even in the dark.

 

“You're not even pretending anymore. I can feel your lies, your half truths. You _taught_ me how to feel for them, even if I still don't know how. Or why. If I didn't know any better I'd say you're training a successor.”

 

The days between the dreams feel like sleepwalking to Stiles partially because he can't understand what's happening to him unless he's here and remembering. There are thoughts in his waking mind that don't feel like they belong, skills he has no memory of learning. Flies are following him everywhere and everytime he catches one it fades into dust in his hands.

 

_“I didn't teach you anything. You would never trust my teaching and I could never trust your memory, your understanding. No. Here, the only power you gain is that which you earn.”_

 

“So the game is teaching me.” He says, realisation dawning as he places another white stone to protect a vulnerable cluster.

 

_“The game is a battle. You against me. Every stone you win earns you a piece of my knowledge. Every stone I win gives me a piece of you. Every step to victory earns you a fraction of power or me a little more control. When we're done, should you win, you will know all that we’ve known and you will be all that we were. I might fade but the Nogitsune lives on.”_

 

“Why me? There would have been thousands of hosts you could have taken. Scott, Allison, any random person in town. Why did you pick me?”

 

The dust quivers with what might be a silent laugh. _“Oh but you are no random person, Stiles. No, no. You were no choice of convenience. I have had so very many hosts but none of them fit me quite the way you did. You are like a well tailored suit, as if you were born just for me. Not your body, but your mind Stiles. I know you've felt it too. We fit. But you proved yourself to be not just like me, but_ better _. You and your little pack killed me. I must admit I'm impressed.”_

 

He hadn’t meant to impress this monster, and he certain didn’t want It’s compliments but Stiles couldn’t help feeling a bit flattered anyway. “Just out of curiosity; What would happen if I lose?”

 

_“One of us will be dead once this is over. If you lose I will take your body and all the power and skill you have taken so far and I will burn this town and everything in it to the ground before I fade. Maybe I'll stick the sword a bit higher into your wolf this time, see if he can heal a stab through the heart as he did the one through his gut.”_

 

“It's a good thing that I don't plan on losing then. Because I don't care if I'll be dead. Don't think that that would stop me. I will never let you lay a hand on any one of my friends again. You won't be harming a hair on Scott's head.”

 

_“Prove it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote that stupid cafeteria scene seven god damn times, fuck EVERYTHING. Also, some bonus Malia appears! (Don’t get used to it, Scott and Stiles remain my primary pov characters.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Star Wars makes almost everything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update because I'm sick and your reactions and comments give me life.

**~*~**

**Stiles**

 

The rest of the week passes in a blur. It feels like Stiles only blinked and it’s Friday.

 

Scott has been anticipating it all week, that much is obvious. He brightens up every time someone just mentions the weekend in his presence. Now that the day is here, he almost looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Stiles watches Scott as he counts down the minutes until school will be over. He fidgets in his seat and stares at the clock like he could make the seconds pass faster if he looks hard enough.

 

Scott is out of the door the second the bell rings. He told Stiles he'd have to stop by at home to prepare some food for his mum and get an overnight bag. He gets the food part, Melissa rarely has the energy to take care of that herself after a long shift, but an overnight bag? There has been a red toothbrush with Scott's name on it in Stiles’ bathroom since they were ten and some of their shirts have switched owners so often that no one remembers who they belonged to originally. It's not like they are squeamish about walking around in the other's clothes.

 

Stiles gathers his things more slowly. He's in no haste to get home. If he's honest with himself, he's not sure if this whole thing is a good idea. Then again, when has he ever cared about that before?

 

By the time he leaves the classroom, the school is mostly empty. There are a few other stragglers left in the hallways, some of them whispering as he passes by. He sends them his best deranged grin, eyes wide and teeth bared. He chuckles when they flinch and hurry along, shakes his head. Too easy.

 

He rounds the corner, and comes to an abrupt stop. Just a few feet ahead stand Scott and Isaac, talking with low voices. Isaac has placed himself as close to Scott as he can get while still being out of reach of Scott's hands. Looks like he's afraid to draw Scott's displeasure with whatever he's going to say. Stiles let's himself fade into a shadow and listens. He doesn't have to wait long.

 

Whether it's being overheard or Scott's reaction that he fears is anyone’s guess, but it's obvious that Isaac is nervous. “I know you're headed to Stilinski’s and normally I wouldn't care but… Scott. Be careful.” he says.

 

Stiles eyebrows shoot up. So they're talking talking about him, are they? Odd. Isaac and Stiles are usually happy enough to ignore each other’s existence. So what business is it of his where Scott spends his Friday evenings?

 

Scott, too, doesn't seem know what Isaac is talking about. He shakes his head. And honestly, “Be careful”? Of what? It's a movie night and a sleep over. They'll talk and bond and eat greasy pizza that Stiles wouldn't let into the house if he didn't know for sure his father won't be there. What exactly does Isaac imagine they'll do? Well, Stiles has imagined a few things himself, but it's not like Isaac could know about that. He's a werewolf, not a mind reader.

 

“Look, man, I know you don't want me to say it, but something is not right with Stiles. He's been acting weird and I mean way weirder than he usually does, and you know it. I know you know it, because we all do. I don't know what to make of it. If it's just… trauma or whatever. I can't get a read on him anymore, and to be honest I don't think you can either. Just… if I'm being paranoid, fine. But be careful.”

 

Vaguely, Stiles thinks that he should be getting angry about this, but he can't, honestly. It doesn't surprise him that Isaac doesn't know what to make of him anymore either. Hell, if he's being honest then Stiles doesn't know what to make of himself anymore either. But isn't that why today is so important? It's a day for him and Scott to relearn each other, to learn to be friends again after they had been forced to be enemies. Or at least that’s what Scott wants it to be.

 

“I don't think leaving him to deal with this on his own for so long was a good idea,” Scott admits. “I'm going to do what I can to make up for it.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes and then he thinks he might have to revise his theory about Isaac and mind reading because: “He asked you to leave him alone. He asked all of us to, in fact. I don't think he'll blame you for doing what he told you to do.”

 

 _‘Thank you, Isaac. Couldn't have put it better myself._ ’

 

But Scott shakes his head. “That's not it. It doesn't matter if he blames me or not. I should have known better than to let it fester this long.”

 

Is that what they have been doing? Letting it fester? He remembers black veins and pain crawling up his arm and shudders. Maybe. But if they did it was for a good reason.

 

“Be careful anyways. I know you want to help him, but you can't if he won't let you, and he won't thank you for butting in where you're not wanted. You’re running yourself ragged anyway.”

 

_‘Yeah, Scott be careful. Be careful, because there's a monster hiding under your best friend's skin and he doesn't know how to keep control of It when It's hungry.’_

 

He sees Scott wince.

 

That is exactly what Scott has been afraid of all along, isn't it? Scott can't deal with being unable to help, it would be even worse if he was told his help isn't wanted.

 

He leaves Isaac with a promise to keep an eye out that neither of the two believe. Stiles doesn't either. Scott is terrible at being careful.

 

He waits until Scott is out of earshot before he steps out of the shadow directly behind Isaac. He lays a hand on his shoulder and suppresses a laugh when he feels him jump. “Hey, Isaac. See you Monday. Have a good weekend, yeah?”

 

Isaac jumps, then finches. “How did you…? Where the hell did you come from?”

 

He smiles. So it was being overheard that he'd been afraid of. Interesting. What exactly does he think Stiles is going to do? “Hmm? Oh, don't worry about it. Just passing by.” he says with a smile on his face and false cheer in his voice.

 

He turns around, walks down the corridor and out of the school, leaving a stunned and worried Isaac in his wake.

 

**~*~**

 

 _‘So.’_ Stiles thinks to himself as he puts the popcorn in the microwave. _‘One normal teenage movie night, coming right up.’_

 

When Scott proposed that they take some time alone for just the two of them, Stiles jumped at the chance mostly because he, much like Scott, is sick of the distance between them. Forcing himself to be distant hurt, but it was nothing compared to what harming Scott again would feel like.

 

On Monday though, he'd said ‘fuck it’ to all that.

 

Since being bitten, Scott has changed, mentally as well as physically. He only managed to stay himself with the help of his friends and family. So, maybe Stiles had been approaching the situation the wrong way.

 

Or maybe he hadn't been. Stiles isn't Scott after all and they'd always dealt with things differently.

 

Yet, he _misses_ Scott. He misses their casual closeness and their silent understanding. Private looks and fleeting touches, shared like secrets between them. He misses having his best friend by his side. He misses having someone to lean on when the world stops making sense. And it's still not making sense.

 

Scott would let him, that's not the problem. The problem is that Scott shouldn't be trusting him at all and he doesn't even know it. Wouldn't want to hear it.

 

The microwave makes a beeping sound and Stiles takes the now popped popcorn out of its container and transfers it into a bowl. Not much longer and then Scott will be there. Stiles has already laid out some DVDs, the fridge is stocked with soda, and his dad won't be home until morning. He seemed happy when Stiles told him that Scott would be coming over. His dad worries and he doesn't even try to hide it. Stiles can see it written on his face, in the slump of his shoulders and the pained look in his eyes. It had gotten progressively worse over the two weeks that Stiles cut himself off from his friends, from the world.

 

He shakes his head, fishes a few unpopped kernels out of the bowl and flicks them into the sink. It doesn't matter. He's going to take it one day at a time until it gets better or at least easier to deal with. That has always worked out for him until now. He'll see if tonight goes well and if it doesn't, he'll deal with that too.

 

He hasn't even left the kitchen before he hears Scott's bike outside.

 

“Door’s unlocked,” he yells in its general direction. There is a smile on Scott's lips when Stiles sees him. It's a nervous little thing, but it's there.

 

Stiles forces a grin and sets the bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table. “Hi.”

 

“I brought snacks” says Scott, following him to the living room. He throws his backpack at Stiles who catches it and leans it against one of the table’s legs. When he looks up again, Scott has already taken off his shoes and jacket. He stands there, in the middle of the room, looking awkward and unsure, but so very eager. He might be a big bad wolf now, but underneath it all he still has the personality of a puppy. The last few rays of the winter sun are shining through the window and Scott looks radiant in the fading light. For a moment Stiles feels so overwhelmingly fond of him that it chokes him. He has to clear his throat because because it’s clogged with too much emotion.

 

He probably looks like an idiot, just staring at his friend and not saying a word. However, Scott is determined and it seems he won’t let the awkwardness last. “So, what are we watching tonight?” he asks, flopping down on the couch like a dead weight.

 

Stiles shakes off the feeling and grins. For real this time. “Why, Scotty. I'm glad you asked. It's time you stopped avoiding your fate.”

 

Scott sits up, alert. “What are you talking about?” he asks, brows furrowed. He's suspicious, as if Stiles’ choice of movie would be the greatest obstacle they will face tonight. Hey, maybe it is. There's always hope.

 

Stiles let's a bit of malice show on his face. “You promised me my pick of movies, remember? And what kind of best friend would I be if I didn't take full advantage of such a rare opportunity to force some classical movie education onto you.”

Scott's eyes widen. “No. You wouldn't.”

 

“Oh, Scotty, you sweet, innocent soul. Yes, I absolutely would and you know it. It is time for your final descend into nerddom. Nothing can stop it now. Tonight's the night, my friend. You're not getting out of this one.” Not this time. Not today. Stiles has waited for this day for _years_.

 

“I hate you.” Scott says, slumping back down on the sofa.

 

“You really don't, though.” Stiles can’t suppress a smirk. To be fair, he’s not trying very hard either.

 

Scott ignores him. “Why would you do this to me?”

 

“Stop whining, Scott. You're not actually a dog, so it's really not cute” It is, but Stiles can't admit to that if he wants to win this argument. “This will be good for you. Trust me, you'll like them.”

 

In his opinion, the glare that comment earns him is absolutely adorable. He can feel the smirk fade into a genuine grin, but no matter how much affection he holds for the boy on his couch, he decides to take a page from Scott's book, and ignores all further protest. A few seconds later the title music to Star Wars - A New Hope starts playing and when Scott lets out an exasperated groan, Stiles decides to ignore that too.

 

**~*~**

**Scott**

 

He should have expected this, really. Stiles has only been hounding him to watch the trilogy (? Weren't there six of these? And why did they start with the fourth one?) for years now. Of course he takes the first chance to force it on him when Scott can't refuse. Of course he does.

 

True to Stiles’ words though, Scott has to admit he’s enjoying the movie. The dated special effects are a bit grating and the dialogue feels overly cheesy at times, but by the time Scott gets to see the infamous Luke Skywalker for the first time he’s hooked. He gets to know Han and Chewy and Stiles makes a stupid werewolf joke that Scott listens to with only half an ear.

 

Leia, though. The princess is badass with her resourcefulness and scalding wit and it reminds Scott of someone else he knows. Someone who is leaning against the other arm of the couch, by far more relaxed than Scott has seen him lately. Still keeping that half foot of distance between them, though, that Scott can't seem to bridge.

 

Stiles probably knows the entire series by heart. When Scott glances over at one point, he can see him mouthing along the lines, which he probably does to stop himself from talking over the movie to tell Scott every little trivia detail that he may or may not want to know. It's happened before. Scott still hasn’t quite forgiven him for ruining his first Lord of the Rings experience.

 

Stiles is watching Scott more than he's watching the TV screen. Scott doesn't notice at first, because the movie grabs his full attention. Also, no matter what might have happened between them, Scott still feels completely safe around Stiles. It's not that surprising, he thinks. His guard is down and his instincts are dulled by the warmth of home and the comforting presence of his best friend.

 

Eventually movie ends, but Stiles doesn't shut off the TV. He lets the credits roll across the screen instead, epic music filling the room.

 

“Well then, what do you think, Scotty? Was it bearable?” Stiles asks, smug satisfaction dripping from his tone. He looks like the cat who caught the fattest canary in town and is now eating it slowly while relaxing on a bed of yellow feathers. Scott would be annoyed, but he can’t bring himself to muster up the emotion. He feels too happy. Warm and content. A good movie, some popcorn and Stiles and the world rights itself again. These are well worn routines of untroubled times. Still. It’s not like he can just let Stiles win like that.

 

 **“** Stop looking at me like that. I can see the ‘I told you so’ on your face and I haven't even said anything yet.” He's aiming for a stern voice but at the sight of Stiles wild grin Scott has hard time holding his own laughter back. His shoulders are shaking with it.

 

“You loved it, didn't you?” Stiles says and his grin only gets wider which Scott had forgotten was possible.

 

“Wow. I didn't know you were psychic.”

 

“One of my many hidden talents.”

 

“Oh yeah? What are the others?”

 

Scott only has the fraction of a second as warning. It's not enough. A dangerous, calculating look flashes over Stiles face, then he’s already on him. His fingers are digging into Scott's sides with relentless ferocity. Scott manages to hold on for a brief moment before he burst out laughing hysterically. It should be easy to throw him off, but Stiles has the element of surprise, and the tactical advantage of knowing all of Scott's weak spots on his side.

 

His hands move from Scott’s side to his the back of his knees to the soles of his feet and back again at random. Scott can never quite anticipate where the next attack will come from and it doesn’t help that Stiles has that stupid deranged grin on his face and so Scott physically cannot stop laughing. The air is burning in his lungs and he's gasping for oxygen as if his asthma had decided to make a sudden comeback. Stiles doesn't let up. The laughter is both painful and incredibly freeing. They had been tense and careful for so long but this? This is better than breathing.

 

“Do you surrender, McCall?” There is still danger in Stiles’ eyes, but this Scott knows how to deal with him and his mischief.

 

Despite the lack of air, he grins. “Never!” Giving up isn’t even an option.

 

With the grin never leaving his face that must be turning blue at this point, Scott gathers his strength and flips them over, in doing so toppling them both over the edge of the couch. The coffee table gets pushed further into the room by their impact. Popcorn and assorted snacks spills onto the floor when their containers falls off. The soda cans wobble, then crash to the floor with hollow clanking noises.

 

Scott lands on top of Stiles and grabs both his wrists on the way down, pining him to the floor and effectively stopping the tickle attack.

 

“What about you, Stilinski? Do you surrender?” Scott is breathless and panting but he feels like he's glowing. Stiles gives him a breathless laugh in return and rolls his eyes.

 

“You wish.” He says. There's a blush spreading over his face, down his neck and up to his ears, and his eyes are fierce and shining with joy.

 

They both know Stiles can't move from under Scott, not with Scott's strength and most of his weight pressing him down, but he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get out either. Instead he relaxes back against the floor, closes his eyes and goes completely limp. Tension drains out of him slowly and Scott watches in awe as the walking icicle that he’s dealt with until now turns back into his best friend, at least for a while. A few seconds pass in silence before Stiles whispers “I missed this.”

 

 _‘I love you’_ shoots through Scott's head, but he can't say that out loud so he settles for “Yeah, me too.”

 

He lets go of Stiles’ wrists and lets himself sink down completely, half next to, half still on top of him. Stiles huffs and shifts a little, but doesn’t protest Scott’s impromptu attempt at two-man-puppy-piling.

 

Scott welcomes Stiles’ cold fingers when they start playing with his hair. It takes them a full ten minutes to get up and clean the popcorn off the floor.

 

**~*~**

 

“It's still early. If you want we can open up your snack bag and watch the second one,” Stiles says after they are done getting rid of the mess they've made of the living room.

 

Scott hesitates, but then shakes his head. He’s still warm and comfortable, but there is a melancholy to it now and he can’t really put his finger on where that came from. Once they got up from the floor, Stiles had gone back to guarding his personal space as if any intrusion would physically hurt him. Scott is getting some rather mixed signals and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to react to that. For now he tries to swallow it down and ignore it.

 

“I don't think I could process any more of that today. Let's save it for next time, yeah?”

 

One of Stiles’ eyebrows rises slightly, but his expression stays carefully blank. “Next time? Are we gonna revive Friday night movie nights?”

 

It had been one of their Things in middle school, when their parents still pulled more night shifts than not and both their houses were empty of parental supervision, Scott and Stiles would huddle up together on every none school night they had to watch movies or play video games. It had slowly come to a stop when Stiles’ father had been promoted to sheriff and could afford to stay home more. Then Peter happened and their lives turned crazy and there was no more time for just the two of them.

 

“I… Well, I don't see why not.” Scott says, not quite looking at Stiles, who doesn't answer for a bit, busying himself with putting away the last of the dishes he's been washing. Stiles’ tone had been neutral, so Scott doesn't know what to expect from him.

 

“... I'd like that actually. Our lives have been crazy for a while now. It might be good to get some normalcy back.” he says, closing the cupboard door and turning back to Scott. There is a small, careful smile on his lips. It’s fleeting and already gone by the time Scott registers it, but it was there.

 

Normalcy. Yeah, wouldn't that be nice? Scott looks at Stiles and gives one decisive nod. “Yeah. I think it will be.”

 

Eventually, they finish cleaning up, but when Stiles makes to head upstairs, Scott grabs his wrist to stop him. Stiles turns to him, surprised and expectant. His expression is still guarded, but more open than it has been and something in Scott is rebelling against the world because this isn't fair. It's been good. Today was good. But all Scott feels right now is the distance between them thrown into stark relief by all the things that aren't quite the same as they used to be.

 

“Scott? Are you okay?” There's a tight knot in Scott's stomach that tightens even further at the words. He nods slowly, then shakes his head.

 

“I… I'm not sure? I think. I should be, right? But… ”

 

“Come on, sit down.” Stiles says, ushering him back towards the couch. They sit, closer than they did before and when Stiles takes his hand and squeezes it, Scott startles, but doesn't pull away. Stiles hand is cool, but his hold is strong and he looks at Scott with this careful concern he so rarely shows anyone else. Scott looks at him for a second, unable to get even on word out. He feels his hand being squeezed again, harder this time and Scott just breaks.

 

He yanks Stiles into a hug that has to be painful because Scott is too upset to control his werewolf strength. He can't make himself let go. Stiles’ neck is cool and Scott buries his face in it and grasps the back of his shirt like it's a lifeline.

 

“Scott, what-?”

 

“I'm sorry. I… I shouldn't. Today was supposed to be good.”

 

One of Stiles’ hand comes up to rest against the back of Scott's head, slowly running his fingers through the Scott's hair, like it had earlier. The other sneaks around his back and lays between his shoulder blades. Scott can’t see his face but Stiles’ voice is unnaturally calm when he answers.

 

“Today was a good day. I'm almost a bit surprised to be honest. I thought I'd be the one breaking down sooner or later.”

 

Scott chokes out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. “We're both so fucked up.” His voice is muffled by Stiles’ shirt, but it doesn't seem to matter. Stiles hand stills in his hair for a moment.

 

“I… Can't really argue with that.” Stiles voice cracks on the words and Scott it’s almost a relief to has some proof that Stiles is as affected as he is.

 

They fall into silence. Scott isn't really sure if he's crying or not. He feels like he should be, there is water in his eyes and he's shaking, but his tears don't fall. He can't let them. He’s the alpha, has to be strong for his pack. Scott can let himself break when there are others he still has to help, still has to protect.

 

Stiles is having none of it. “It's okay, Scott. I'm here. I'm not gonna- You can cry if you need to. God knows you've got more than enough reasons.”

 

But Scott just grips him tighter and shakes his head. Why doesn't Stiles understand? If he lets himself have this now he will get used to it, and then, if Stiles is gone again he won’t be able to survive alone.

 

Stiles pulls back a little, just enough to be able to look Scott in the eyes. His eyes are filled with pain, guilt and empathy - for once completely open and unguarded. He gives an exasperated huff.

 

“Scott, it's fine. It's me. I've got you. Let it out.” The last sentence sounds almost like an order, despite the soft voice, and the dam breaks. Before he knows it, Scott is sobbing into Stiles’ shirt. Stiles is saying something, but Scott can't understand what it is, too swept away in a torrent of emotions that he has no hope to control. Stiles’ voice is comforting though and it's an anchor in this storm of anguish that Scott has been holding back for months. Frustration, guilt, self-deprecation, anger at himself and the world - at the unfairness of it all, it all comes crashing down.

 

He cries for Allison, for his once love who is strong and beautiful and dying. He cries for Aiden, who came to help them when he had no obligation to, and who is dying for it as well. He cries for his father who finally gave him an excuse for being a ghost in his life for years and promptly left him again. All of it, because that was easier than facing his guilt. He cries for the people who died, those he couldn't save. And he cries for Stiles who was forced to become a murderer, who was violated in the worst of ways. One more person, the most important person, who Scott couldn't protect.

 

Stiles, who is still petting his hair and telling Scott that he's good, that he shouldn't blame himself, that none of this is his fault and that it should never have happened. Scott doesn't believe him, but Stiles does and that counts for something.

 

He also cries for himself. Some things inside him have become so warped that he doesn't recognise himself sometimes. It hurts to find that the one thing Stiles should never forgive him for is something he doesn't even know about. It feels like he's lying to his best friend and he has never done that before.

 

He doesn't know how long he cries, but his tears have drenched the fabric of Stiles’ shirt by the time he pulls away. If Stiles minds, he's very good at not showing it. He keeps cradling his head, whispering quiet nothings and soft reassurances into the air between them and Scott can't take it anymore.

 

He pulls away, averts his eyes, takes a few shuddering breaths to try and calm down, then speaks.

 

“I'm… Stiles, there is…” He trails off. He doesn't look at Stiles, but he doesn't need to. He can feel Stiles’ eyes examining him. There is no judgement between them, but Stiles can never stop analysing. It doesn't usually bother him, but now he feels pinned and spread apart like a butterfly in the hands of a collector. It's not an entirely unpleasant feeling. He likes Stiles’ focus on him.

 

“You don't have to tell me,” he says and now that's just another lie. It's probably not meant as one, though. Stiles would let it go if Scott told him to, but he still has to talk now because if he doesn't, he might not find the courage to do it later. He barely has enough courage now.

 

“I want to… I need you to know. I… You remember what happened at Deaton’s?” Stiles freezes. Scott steels himself for whatever comes next. Stiles has never been exactly tactful when someone was poking at a sore spot and this particular sore spot was a gaping, bleeding, open wound for the both of them still.

 

“I remember everything about that day,” he says in a voice that is both empty and colder than a glacier, but he doesn't say anything more.

Scott sends him a glance and Stiles waves at him to continue.

 

“When he- When it… When I was stabbed. It hurt, it was painful but then… What the Fox did it… God I don't know. Before, the entire day was pain. More and more and more of it. And then the fox _took_ it. And I never felt… There was nothing. It felt incredible and light, but also horrifying because you were not yourself and I've never been that scared before in my life. I was losing you, but a part of me was enjoying it.”

 

“You haven't lost me, Scott. You still got me.” Stiles sounds choked, but Scott only notices it distantly.

 

He buries his head in his hands. “Have I, though? You've been so distant I hardly see you at all. I know you said you needed time, but damnit, Stiles! It's us! I should have been helping you, no matter if you told me to stay away or not, but instead I've been letting this distance be between us because I… Because I feel guilty about liking what _it_ did to me. It felt like I was betraying you and now I feel like I've kept that up because you're not okay and I'm not okay and we are supposed to deal with these things together, but I'm not sure I deserve you anymore.”

 

He's too tired to cry again, which is probably a good thing. Because if Stiles rejects him for what he felt then - what he still wishes for - if he kicks him out then that's his right and it would be easier to leave without tears hazing his vision.

 

“Scott. Scotty. Listen to me. I said I remembered everything about that day, but I think I might not have been clear enough. When I said I remember, what I meant was… The Fox and I weren't really separate then. He was me, I was him. It's all a big jumbled mess in my head. When I try to think about it is like… Like trying to sort grains of salt and sugar. There is a difference, I know there is, but I can't see it. I don't know which one of us knocked out Kira, I don't know who grabbed the hilt of that sword and twisted it, but I do know one thing. If there was a part of me in there, I would have wanted you to be whole and health and happy and unhurt. We took your pain and feasted on it, but I can't tell you if it was him because he wanted your energy or me because I wanted you to stop hurting. Not knowing that will haunt me forever.”

 

I'm not sure it's about deserving Scott, because I don't care about that. I don't care if you think you deserve me. You have me whether you do or not. I asked myself if you weren't too good for me about a thousand times already, but as long as you want me you have me. I'm not selfless enough to leave unless you send me away. Because you're right. We've always been better together and it was stupid of me to push you away and I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry. I thought I was still dangerous and I didn't want you near me in case I was right.”

 

That was the reason? Of all the things Scott had expected, that wasn’t… but it shouldn't be surprise.

 

“Stiles, the Fox is gone. You're you. Why would you still be dangerous?” It still makes no sense. Stiles is human and while Scott is not so naive not to know that Stiles can be dangerous if he puts his mind to it, for Stiles to think that he could hurt them without meaning to? That’s ludicrous. However, Stiles slowly shakes his head.

 

“See, I'm trying to believe that but… I'm not even sure if this body is real or not, let alone if I am. I mean it feels real, most of the time and I think I'm myself, but I can't actually know, can I? Sometimes I feel so numb and there are times when I feel like I’m anything but myself.”

 

“Well I think you're real. Does that count for something?” It’s not a lie. Scott has worried, of course he did, but the thought that Stiles might not be real, that he is talking to a ghost is too painful to contemplate for long.  

 

“Yeah, Scotty. More than you know.”

 

This time it's Stiles who drags them into a hug. It's not one born from bone crushing desperation. This one is soft, gentle and reassuring. “We're not doing that again, do you hear me? This artificial distance thing was terrible. A terrible idea with terrible execution and I plead temporary insanity because I can't believe it was me who came up with it. The next time I propose an idea this stupid, you have my full permission to turn me upside down and shake until my brain clicks back into place.”

 

He laughs and squeezes a bit harder. It's good, the feeling of Stiles in his arms. After a month of almost complete separation the novelty of being allowed to touch still hasn't worn off.

 

**~*~**

**Stiles**

 

Eventually Scott goes off to wash his face and change into pajamas. It's still early, but they are both tired and emotionally drained. It had been almost a struggle, to let Scott cry and sort through his feelings the normal way. Stiles feels like it would have been so easy to take his turmoil until he was calm and relaxed and couldn't ever remember being upset. Could he have? Why does he think that he…?

 

When Scott returns from the bathroom he finds Stiles staring at the old, rolled up futon in the hallway closet. He should get it out and sleep on it or make Scott do it. He should, but he doesn't want to. And so much of what he ‘should’ do has turned out to be a terrible idea lately so he's hesitant.

 

Scott tells Stiles that the bathroom is free like it wasn't obvious and they switch places. When he returns with clean teeth and wearing an old shirt and sweatpants, Scott has taken the decision out of his hands. He's curled up on one side of the bed, looking a Stiles with defiance.

 

“You didn't think I'd let you exile me to the floor, did you?” There is a lot in that sentence that Scott isn't saying. He isn't saying that he knows Stiles is afraid of himself more than anything else, but that Scott refuses to be. He isn't saying that there is nothing Stiles could do that would push Scott away. He isn't saying that he trusts Stiles with his life. He's not saying it because Stiles knows these things already and they've had enough emotional talk for one day.

 

He shakes his head, gives a wry smile, turns off the light and crawls into bed next to Scott.

 

“Night Scott,” he mumbles into the pillow next to him.

 

Before Scott can reply, Stiles is already asleep.

 

**~*~**

 

He steps up to the board again.

 

He places one last, white stone.

 

“I win.” he says. The game is over.

 

The Shadow on the other side screeches in pain. It rises into the air, twists and turns. It tries to grab for him with smokey tendrils, but It never quite reaches far enough. It contracts and expands, rising higher and higher, until - with a final, rage filled scream - It disintegrates. Dust rains down around him. It fills his lungs and stings his eyes. It's everywhere.

 

He coughs and coughs.

 

His eyes are blurring.

 

He can't breathe!

 

He can't see!

 

He feels like he's dying. His blood is burning and freezing in his veins. His skull feels like it's shrinking around his brain, or maybe his brain is swelling because there is _something_ there, but he can't pick it out because there is _too much_.

 

There's a stabbing pain in his chest and he can't… breath! He can't…!

 

Maybe he blacks out for a while, even though that can't be what happens. He's inside his own mind already. Where would his consciousness flee to? All he knows is that one second he felt like he was dying and in the next there was nothing and then he's back again.

 

It takes him too long to force air back into his lungs, but he manages eventually. Slowly the sensations fade, one by one. The freezing cold, the ache in his bones is the last to go. His eyes are free of ash and tears when he blinks them open. He sits up and looks around.

 

The world has been painted gray and he's alone.

 

Stiles wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't actually think I was just gonna write fluff and let them be happy, did you?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox is dead, long live the Fox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah. I'm late. I know. In my defence, I was sick and this is the longest chapter yet.
> 
> Thanks to Satan, as always, who is the most amazing beta of amazingness. 
> 
> Thanks also to everyone who reads this story and especially to those who comment, bookmark and/or leave kudos. I love you guys. 
> 
> Warning for: Vomiting and panic attacks.

 

**~*~**

**Scott**

  


Back-to-back with Stiles and curled up under the covers, Scott lies awake. The light is dim. Neither of them bothered to close the curtains and so the half moon shines its silver light into the room, painting everything in muted shades of gray. The world seems unreal in this light, spun out of stardust and shadow. The digital alarm clock on Stiles' nightstand blinks the time at Scott. It tells him that it's been more than half an hour that he's been lying here.

 

Stiles fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, and by now Scott envies him for it. Unable to stop thinking, he's been tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable but sleep stays elusive. There is too much to think about for his mind to find rest.

 

Isaac had been right when he said that Stiles was acting different, but he doesn't see the whole extent of it. Scott thinks he might, now. Because it might look like Stiles is getting better, but only in some ways. Today he'd been almost back to normal for a while; joking with Scott and enjoying their time together, forcing him to watch good movies that Scott only hadn’t seen yet because he wants the share Stiles’ joy in them.

 

The almost normalcy had become too much. Instead of his responsibilities, Scott had chosen Stiles and he had been happy. Completely, heart-swellingly, unquestionably happy. Almost, but not quite. Scott felt like he had fallen through a mirror, and the world he found himself in was the same, only left was right, the colors were off and he didn’t understand the laws of physics in this place.

 

Stiles has always been a complex web of contradictions, but this closeness one second, and distance the next is new and the constant switching is giving Scott the worst sort of vertigo.

 

Listening to Stiles’ deep and even breaths, the steady beat of his heart, Scott thinks he might never get over how close he got to losing this, to losing Stiles. He can't wrap his mind around the concept. Their lives are dangerous, yes, but he never thought… Maybe it just never really sunk in.

 

What would a life without Stiles even be? Scott has no idea and he doesn’t think he could survive that loss. He can hardly remember a time before Stiles, can't imagine there ever being an ‘after’. Or maybe he could survive it. He has survived Peter, a Kanima and hunters and an Alpha Pack and a Nogitsune. He even survived sacrificing himself. However, whether or not he could do it doesn't matter, because he doesn't want to find out one way or the other.

 

Stiles shifts in his sleep behind him and Scott turns around to look at him. Laying on his back, face turned towards the ceiling, Stiles looks almost too still. Scott scuffles closer to take in his face. The expression is odd and Scott can’t place it immediately. He has seen it many times before, but doesn't expect to find it here. It's not the calm, relaxed look of a dreamless sleep, nor the tight and pained expression Stiles adopts during a nightmare. Eyebrows drawn and his lips pressed together in a thin line; he’s lost in concentration. It looks like not even sleep can calm Stiles’ thoughts these days. Scott is not sure how he would cope in his place, so he's just glad that his dreams don't seem to be nightmares anymore, whatever else they might be.

 

Scott watches for a few minutes more. With a feather light touch he strokes a thumb over Stiles cheek, right under one of the dark rings under his eyes. They have been getting darker again, so Scott takes care not to wake his friend.

 

He is constantly worrying these days, constantly tense. Crying had helped, Scott can’t deny it. Letting his emotions out and soaking up the comfort that Stiles gave so freely. Still, he worries about Malia fitting in at school, about Isaac and Allison dating, about Allison and Aiden dying, about Stiles… just about Stiles in general.

 

Truth be told, Stiles takes up most of his thoughts even if he shouldn't. Allison and Aiden are the ones who are actively in danger of dying, but their conditions haven't changed in weeks and Scott can't shake the thought that there is something serious, that is wrong with Stiles. It's something that he has not told anyone about. With the way he acts, and from what he's said, it's clear Stiles doesn't yet trust that he's free of the Fox. It's like he still expects to wake up one morning, drenched in blood, and with dead bodies littering the streets. It's making the others nervous - well, except for Malia. Scott isn't proud to admit that it's starting to get to him too, especially after tonight.

 

Just because he’d been too drained to show it at the time, doesn't mean he's not disturbed that Stiles seems to be unable to distinguish between himself and a thousand year old, evil fox spirit. How can he think himself even close to being the same as that thing? Stiles is a wonderful mess of mischief and moral dilemmas, but most importantly, he has always been and will irrevocably remain a good person.

 

Only Stiles apparently isn’t as convinced of this fact as Scott is. He just doesn't understand. No, that's not right. He _can't_ understand.

 

No one but Stiles knows what really happened when his mind was taken over. Scott and Lydia got a glimpse, but even they don't know, not really. None of them know what the Nogitsune has done to their friend. None of them know what poison it might have whispered in Stiles ears. But to think that he could confuse himself with that thing? It sends shivers of fear down Scott's spine.

 

Scott is not the only one who has noticed that Stiles has changed and some of these changes might be permanent, no matter how much he'd like to pretend that they won't. On the other hand, Stiles is their friend and what's more he's part of the pack. Scott needs to trust his pack without reservation. He needs them to trust each other as well. They have more important things to worry about than being suspicious of one of their own, and Stiles has enough on his plate without constant scrutiny from his friends.

 

And so Scott makes a decision. He's the alpha of this pack, it's his job to lead them. How can he expect the others to trust, where he himself is still apprehensive? Stiles has not given him any actual reasons to be wary of him. Stiles has done nothing wrong, and so Scott will trust him. He will place all his trust in the fact that he knows Stiles better than anyone else, even Stiles himself, and he will keep trusting and reminding him that he does,until Stiles finds his self-confidence again.

 

Stiles twitches and frowns in his sleep. It's such a small movement, but Scott draws his hand anyway. Stiles sighs and settles again without waking up. He shifts back a little, curls up and closes his eyes. He can't watch Stiles sleep all night. That would be creepy, but he feels a fierce protectiveness for this boy that he can't entirely contain. He rests one hand on Stiles’ arm, needing the affirmation of physical contact, but unwilling to crowd him too much. He doesn't notice when he finally drifts off to sleep.

  


**~*~**

**Stiles**

 

He wakes with a gasp and an acute sense of awareness that he doesn't remember having before. Before he even registers that he's moving, he has already stumbled out of bed, gotten tangled in the sheets and crashed to the floor. He barely feels the spike of pain shoot through his arm, but he hears the loud bang as his elbow connects with the hardwood. He scrambles back to his feet and forward until he hits the wall. One of his hands is tearing at his hair, the other leaves scratch marks in the wallpaper. He rocks forward, bending over under the stabbing, pounding pain in his head.

 

The fog that clouded his mind for the past month is gone. It’s like his brain was wrapped in cotton wool which has now been scooped out of his skull with a rusted spoon. In return, it apparently feels the need to recompense him by immediately kicking into overdrive. Memories and knowledge are flitting around, buzzing like a swarm of angry wasps, swirling like a hurricane. He remembers the dreams, the game, the Fox. He remembers _everything_.

 

He won. The Fox challenged him but it lost, though he supposes in the end that hardly matters. The end result was always going to be the same - always going to be this. Once again, there is a Nogitsune loose in Beacon Hills.

 

“Stiles?” asks a voice, rough with sleep and worry. The light flickers on. It's dim - must be the lamp on his bedside table - but the sudden brightness still hurts.

 

‘ _Scott_ ’ he remembers. Scott is here. Of course he's here. Where else would he be? Stiles’ world is collapsing in on itself, so of course Scott is right there with him. He wants to look up, wants to see Scott, but his eyes are clenched shut against the light and the storm inside his head. His jaw is locked and his teeth clenched together to keep in the scream that's clawing at his throat.

 

“Stiles?! What's wrong? Stiles!”

 

It's not a scream. Something is _literally_ crawling up his throat and somewhere inside the chaos that is his mind, the thought _‘not again’_ flits past before it's swept away. As soon as Stiles realizes what's happening his mouth is forced open. He kneels over, legs too weak to keep him upright, and starts coughing, heaving. A black, tar like sludge splatters onto the floor.

 

“ _Stiles!_ What's happening?”

 

Scott is panicking. Stiles is vaguely aware of him falling out of the bed and running over. Scott's hands hover over him and he can feel the concern but he can’t stop coughing. His entire body is shaking with the force of it. There's no end to the black slick that's coming out of his mouth. He can't stop. If he stops he'll drown. Scott is shouting his name again. Something is stuck in his throat. It’s solid and too big and it's suffocating him. He can't breathe. He can't _breath! He needs to-_

 

His vision is starting to swim, the edges of it going dark..

 

A hand slaps his back with the full strength of an alpha werewolf. Once. Twice. A third time. The thing unlodges and Stiles spits it out into the puddle of what looks like expired motor oil and finally the coughing stops. He falls backwards, panting hard and eyes unseeing, but Scott catches him.

 

“Stiles, what’s happening? Are you okay? What was that? Stiles, you need to breathe. Just breathe. Come on, slowly. Breath with me. In and out. Come on, I know you can do this.”

 

It takes him over a minute to calm down enough to match his breathing to Scott's, and he probably shouldn't be glad that Scott used to have asthma, but it means he knows what to do and that's helpful. When he can wrap his throat around words again, his voice is raspy and he can’t raise it above a whisper.

 

“Fuck. Fuck!” He shakes his head, trying to sort his thoughts into something resembling cohesion, with limited success. He's not new to dealing with a mind that flies so fast even he himself can't follow but it has never been this bad before. When was the last time he took his Adderall anyway? He can't remember.

 

Scott turns him around forcefully. He holds him at arm’s length, looking him straight in the eye with an expression so scared and worried that Stiles can barely look at him, but he also can’t look away. If Scott hadn't been there, he would have probably choked to death. Maybe that would have been better.

 

His head is still a mess, but now that he can breathe it's all starting to fall into place. A dark chuckle bubbles up his chest because this? This is his worst nightmare. Maybe it's arrogant, but he thinks it might be everyone’s worst nightmare.

 

‘ _The Fox is dead. Long live the Fox,’_ he thinks, because that's what he is now. There will be no going back. The old Fox died, but rather than fucking off to nirvana as It damn well should have, It left its essence to a teenager, left Stiles as Its successor.

 

In the dreams, everything had been so easy and clean cut, but reality has nothing of the foggy calm that had him casually playing a board game with the fucking Nogitsune in his head while It was feeding him magic. What the hell had he been thinking? Had he been thinking at all?

 

Well, no. That was sort of the point.

 

He doesn't want this. He doesn’t want the last thing to do with it. He always prided himself on being the one regular human running with wolves. He didn't have sharp claws and fangs, nor a bow and arrows and years of training. All Stiles had was his wit and a baseball bat, but he managed anyway. He never asked to be a wolf, had in fact refused the bite when it was offered, but he was still part of Scott's pack.

 

But now? An untrained human in a werewolf pack is unusual, but not unheard of. A Nogitsune, though? That's impossible.

 

But the Fox hadn't given him the choice, and now he's going to live with the consequences of a decision he made without knowing he was making it.

 

Stiles can see the worry and panic on his friend's face as easily as he can taste them in the air. One skill owed to years of knowing Scott, the other new and frighteningly intoxicating.

 

He has to restrain himself to keep his hand clenched in fists at his own side and not grasping at Scott to take what he is so carelessly offering without even knowing it. _'He enjoyed it last time. He even said it himself. He won't mind. It won't hurt him. Just- NO!'_

 

He flinches back from Scott and his own thoughts, but Scott still has a firm grasp on his shoulder and behind him is the wall, so he can't move far. Shaking his head does nothing to clear it and hadn't Scott asked him a question?

 

He wants to reassure him, wants to tell Scott that he's fine or at least going to be _(It's a lie!It's a lie!It's a lie! Nothing is ever going to be fine again.)_ , but he's still overwhelmed and so the words that tumble out of his mouth are “I woke up.”

 

It's not what Scott meant, but it's also not a lie. The daytime sleepwalking is over. He hasn't been this brutally awake in months.

 

Scott snorts. “Stiles, I don't know who you think you're kidding, but if that was ‘waking up’ then you have a seriously screwed up morning routine.” The words sound disbelieving and harsh and that’s- wrong, somehow, isn't it? Scott isn’t meant to be harsh, or is he?

 

Stiles laughs humorlessly and shakes his head. Scott is sunshine personified with the temperament of a puppy, but people forget that even the kindest person will eventually run out of patience. He doesn’t usually count himself among those who’d underestimate Scott McCall. Then again, he’s not exactly in the best headspace right now.

 

“Yeah, well, you know how grumpy I get in the mornings.” he says because he doesn’t need conscious thought for sarcasm. Maybe Scott replies to him. Stiles can’t be sure, because it’s hard to hear anything through the rushing of blood in his ears.

 

His whirling mind slowly settles as new memories, familiar-yet-foreign thoughts and obscure knowledge click into place one by one. He's dealt with the instincts for a few weeks already, even if he hadn’t known what was going on and suddenly all of the strange urges and weird intrusive thoughts make sense. Of course he took that girl's pain. He’d had been _starving_ without knowing it.

 

When last piece of information gets assimilated, for a fraction of a second his mind is blank and blessedly silent. Then something pushes itself to the forefront of his mind and when Stiles registers for the first time what exactly it is that he knows now, everything screeches to a halt.

 

He stops. Stops moving, stops breathing, his heart might even have stopped beating for a second there. He stops everything, except thinking the one thought that’s repeating itself, over and over in his mind. _‘Allison and Aiden.’_

 

“Scott. I need to go. Now.” He looks up - when had he turned away? He doesn't remember doing that. - and something in his expression must have conveyed his urgency, because Scott hesitates for a second.

 

Never before has Scott been stopped by hesitation, though. He narrows his eyes, squares his jaw and shakes his head. “What the hell? Stiles, you’re not going anywhere. I'm not letting you out of my sight. Not until we know what the hell just happened. Not until I’m sure you’re okay.”

 

“I know exactly what just happened and we really don’t have the time for me to explain, so if you could just let me go and…” He tries to slip past Scott, but of course he stops him, a hand on Stiles' wrist like a vice. Scott is hurt and angry now which is by far too tempting, not what he wanted, and yet another reason for Stiles to _not be here_.

 

He curses himself silently. No one was ever meant to witness this. If he’d just been a little less desperate for company, then Scott would have been at home tonight and Stiles could have dealt with this on his own. He ruthlessly squashes the part of him that is still grateful for Scott’s presence. What he wants doesn’t matter right now. What he wants might actually be a danger for Scott. He’s panicking and edging into full on fight-or-flight mode and fighting is by far the last thing he wants to do right now. He knows the damage he could do. Scott needs to let him go, needs to get away, before Stiles does something he won’t be able to take back.

 

“I thought we agreed not to run away from each other anymore?” says Scott and okay, yeah, that stings. So Stiles is running, or trying to, but Scott is supposed to know him better. Why can’t he see that Stiles needs to fix what he broke? That he’s trying his hardest not to break anything else?

 

He’s good at that. Running from one problem by throwing himself into fixing another.

 

“Scott, I need to be at the hospital, like, a month ago. But since even I haven't mastered time travel yet, _now_ is the next best option and you're _in my way._ So if you are going to insist on talking about this, we can do that when I’m back, but I have to get going. Now!” He’s almost hyperventilating and he can't stop shivering. His mouth is dry and his vision blurry and Stiles doesn’t know how he’ll even drive to the hospital, but he doesn't care. He'll run there if he has to. With the way his hands are shaking, he’s not even sure he’d be able to put the key in the ignition, but he _needs_ to go there and he needs to go _now._ He’s halfway into a panic attack but who cares about that when there are things that need doing?

 

“To the hospital? Stiles, what…? Do you need a doctor?” Scott’s anger is melting into concern as quickly as it came and that might be even worse because Stiles could storm out on an angry Scott, but leaving him to worry is not an option. Stiles knows the stupid things a worried Scott might get up to.

 

So he shakes his head again, then pauses. “Would it get me there faster if is said ‘Yes’?”

 

The venom in his voice takes Scott by surprise and even Stiles winces a little because that wasn’t intentional, but he’ll take it if it gets him what he wants. He’s angry and afraid of himself and more tense than a tension coil, but that’s no reason to snap at Scott.

 

Scott growls with frustration, but Stiles refuses to look away this time. He stands his ground, glaring at Scott to move out of his way. It takes a few seconds, in which Stiles has too much time to think and almost fails at suppressing the panic, before Scott sighs in exasperation and gives a curt nod.

 

“Alright, fine. You want to go to the hospital? Fine. You look like you need it anyway. But I’m driving. You look like you’d crash your car before you’d even make it out of the driveway. And you will be explaining what’s going on. I’m not letting you out of this.”

 

He wants to protest, but, for one, he doesn’t have the energy to argue further and, for another, Scott is probably right. He won’t be able to get himself anywhere until he calms down.. That’s not going to happen anytime soon, though. There is determination on Scott’s face again and Stiles knows there will be no stopping him. He has no logical reason to tell Scott to stay away other than his own fear, no matter how much he wrecks his brain trying to come up with one. He has no argument, can’t think of anything that would make Scott let him go on his own. He’s not sure he even wants to go on his own.

 

If Scott comes with him then he’ll see. Scott will see what Stiles will do, what he became, what he is now and maybe that would be better. Scott needs to know and he deserves to find out from Stiles rather than any other way. Stiles is selfish though. He doesn’t want things to change. He doesn’t want Scott to stop being his friend, which he could - probably should - if he knew.   


Hiding won’t be an option for long either way, though. Not with Noshiko in town. Not if he has to feed, and he will have to, eventually. That’s another can of worms that Stiles refuses to open right now, even if he is aware that he can’t count on finding a steady supply of heavily concussed schoolmates to fill his needs. But that is a problem for a later date. Stiles had hoped to have more than a few minutes to get used to his new self before facing the rest of the world, but he’ll deal. Somehow. He always deals.

 

Before they leave though there is one more thing he must do. He bends down and lifts the thing that has almost killed him out of the puddle, which is already evaporating at an alarmingly fast rate. It is a round gemstone, maybe the size of a golf ball and deep black in color. Stiles knows exactly what this.

 

「星の玉。」

 

The soul of a kitsune.

 

When he turns the sphere over in his hand, small cracks start to appear all over the surface. Not a few seconds later, it breaks into pieces. Stiles balls a fist around the shards and crushes them into dust for good measure. _‘Bye bye, bastard.’_ he thinks, then he looks back to Scott, who is watching him with an unreadable expression.

 

“Alright,” he says, steeling himself for what he knows he must do. “Then let’s get going.”

 

**~*~**

 

The drive to the hospital is uncomfortable and tense with silence. Scott had looked at him as if he’d grown a second head when he’d tossed him the keys to his jeep. “Just drive.” Stiles had said. “I'm pretty sure I’d fall off your bike if you tried taking me on that.” It’s the truth, but probably didn’t do anything to abate his worries.

 

Scott still hasn’t had the time to process what happened in the short twenty minutes since they woke up. Or maybe he decided that playing twenty questions won't get him any answers for as long as Stiles is unwilling to give them. Which it wouldn’t. Just to clarify. Sometimes the way Scott knows him better than he knows himself is annoying, but now is not one of those times.

 

In any case, it means that he’s glaring at the road and concentrating on driving rather than bombarding Stiles with questions, for which he is grateful. He can’t talk right now. If he tries he’ll start screaming. His head is a place full of conflicting and opposite urges and instincts. He wants to curl into Scott and cry for the humanity that he lost. He wants to run away and hide, lick his wounds and not see a soul until he has a grasp on who he is. He wants to help Allison and Aiden, because they need help and Stiles needs to make up for all the pain he caused, to start at earning forgiveness for things that no one but he knows to blame him for. He wants to drag Scott into a dark corner somewhere and drain him of all the pain and negative emotion he holds until he is empty and there is nothing left and Stiles can feel strong again.

 

He could use that strength, once they get to the hospital. He has to concentrate on getting this right. He’ll have only one shot at this, there is zero margin for error, and even though the knowledge is there, Stiles has never worked with magic this powerful, hasn’t worked with any magic actually, other than the one that had been cast on him.

 

Whether or not he has the experience doesn’t matter, though. What he can do is going to have to be enough because there is no one else who can do anything at this point. He’s the best bet Allison and Aiden have, so he better be on top of his game. Which he isn't. He's so far from being on top of anything, but the longer they wait, the harder it will be and it’s been so long already.

 

The worried and irritated glances Scott keeps sending him ever so often aren’t helping. A few times he opens his mouth as if to ask something - apparently the confusion is setting now - but for now he seems to think better of it. Stiles tries to block out Scott’s emotional turmoil _‘so tempting’_ and hopes Scott won't find his voice until after Stiles has done what he has to do.

 

But of course that is too much to ask for.

 

“Stiles…” Scott starts, then stops himself again and Stiles has _enough._

 

“What?” he snaps when they stop at a red light and Scott glances at him yet again. It’s the middle of the night, the streets are empty and Stiles can barely keep himself from vibrating out of his skin and here is Scott, following traffic laws, wasting time. He probably would, even if the world was ending.

 

The anger must have been apparent in his voice because Scott turns to him fully, but _still_ says nothing. So Stiles takes a deep breath, tries to at least appear calm for the next few seconds and speaks again. He absolutely doesn’t want to have this conversation. In fact, cutting out his own tongue with rusty garden scissors would be preferable at this point, but if it’s the only way he has to move this along, he will do it.

 

Time for at least some measure of honesty. He adopts a somewhat contrite expression, or tries to. It probably ends up looking more like a grimace. He hasn't stopped shaking either and panic is still running through his veins like poison. All things considered this talking thing is probably a bad idea right now, but when has Stiles ever done what's good for him?

 

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen and I didn’t mean for you to have to see it.”

 

He holds his hand up to stop Scott’s protest. He already knows what he will say and he’d like to hurry up this conversation as much as possible. Also, if Scott interrupts him now, Stiles’ doesn't know if he'll be able to keep talking after. He closes his eyes for a painful second before he goes on. “Scott, I told you that I know things that I shouldn’t, that I remember doing things I wasn’t there for. There is a whole lot more to it than that and I didn’t figure it out myself until tonight, so don’t jump on me for not talking to you. My head’s a mess right now, but I think I… no. I know I can wake them up. Allison and Aiden and the other three. I can wake them up. I know how to do it, and it’s going to have to be me who does it. So please just let me do this. Let me at least try. Let me help and then we can worry about everything else after.”

 

Scott is silent for a bit. Outside of the car, the traffic light switches back to green, but he seems in no hurry to get them moving. Stiles grits his teeth. “You just figured it out?”

 

“That's what I just said. If I'd known earlier I never would have left them there.” He grinds out the words slowly and it’s painful to do so. How is it even a question? God, Stiles knows he hasn’t exactly been the most reliable lately, but does Scott honestly think he wouldn’t have said anything if he’d known sooner? Again, he wants to scream, but bites down on it last second.

 

This isn’t the time.

 

“I didn’t think you would, Stiles. That’s not what I meant.” Scott’s eyes are wide and honest and even if Stiles couldn’t taste lies from half a mile away he would have believed him. If he had the capacity for any more emotion he'd probably feel guilty right now.

 

“Look, I want them back on their feet as much as you do, but, Stiles, correct me if I’m wrong, but you almost died not even an hour ago. I don’t know what happened. You said you do, but you won’t tell me, which isn’t exactly putting me at ease here, you know? How do I know this won’t happen again? Hell, how do I know this hasn’t happened _before?_ You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with me - with anyone -  lately. If you’ve only just figured it out can this… Can this at least wait long enough, so we can get mom to look at you? Please? She’s on shift anyway and I need to know that you’re okay.”

 

And in a sudden strike of clarity, Stiles realizes that Scott is just as desperate as he is, but for a completely different reason. God, he has been self centered, hasn’t he? Of course Scott is worried. Of course he is panicking. Stiles knew that much, but he still didn’t connect the pieces. Scott isn’t just concerned to know about what happened, he’s frightened for Stiles’ life. Stiles is balancing on the edge of sanity, but even so he should have known better.

 

It’s a momentous effort to stop and let the tension drain out of him. He's more than halfway into a panic attack still and he hasn't entirely given up on the idea of running away either. Yet Scott is distressed and so Stiles will reassure him. It's one of the laws of the universe. Inescapable and absolute, like gravity.

 

Closing his eyes he tries to center himself and counts out his breaths; four counts on the indrawn breath, hold for three more, exhale for eight. He forces his muscles to relax, one by one, let’s his shoulders sag and does his best to forget that Allison and Aiden even exist. At least for a few minutes. He’s still shaking, but it’s more of a slight trembling in his hands now than the whole body experience he had before.

 

He isn't any calmer than he was before. It's a facade entirely for Scott's benefit, but he will keep it up for as long as he can. Hopefully, it will last until he can break down somewhere quietly and unbothered by anyone.

 

When he opens his eyes again, Scott is watching him and Stiles watches the tension drain out of him in turn. It stumps him for a second, by how in sync they are. Now that he takes the time to think - and he has to _take_ it. It's not just an expression - he thinks that maybe Scott is right. Maybe he does need medical attention. In either case, it won't matter, because there is no way that Scott will not get him checked over by Melissa, by force if necessary. It's probably faster not to protest. So he takes another deep, carefully measured breath and nods.

 

“Fine. If it doesn’t take too long.” Because half an hour might make little difference, but at this point Stiles is sure of nothing and it might make all the difference for all he knows.

 

Scott nods silently and when the light turns green next they start moving again.

 

**~*~**

**Melissa**

 

The hospital is never quiet, but it’s quieter than usual in the early hours of the morning. Melissa is just going for another coffee when she sees Scott and Stiles wandering in, looking disheveled and tense; Scott with an expression on his face that is far too worried for her comfort and Stiles… Stiles is just blank.

 

The blood freezes in her veins when she sees them. Stiles has been absent, not just from her and her son’s life but from everyone. She had hoped that this sleepover/ movie night thing they were planning to do would help get things back on track for these two.

 

Apparently not. This is the first time she’s seen Stiles in weeks and he looks terrible. Scott had said he was getting better, but from what Melissa can see he's almost worse. White as a sheet and with rings like bruises under his eyes, he looks exactly like he did when he was paralysed on her couch and not himself.

 

As it is, she takes no more than one look at them before she ushers them into an examination room. Something is obviously wrong, and though she can't be sure of what it is, it’s likely better not to be overheard. The sound of the door closing behind her son probably shouldn’t fill her with dread, and yet here they are.

 

“What happened?” she says, before either of them can get a word out. She looks pointedly at Scott because experience tells her that she’s more likely to get a complete and honest answer from her son than she is from Stiles. Stiles isn't exactly a compulsive liar, except for when he thinks he needs to be.

 

“I… Mom, I… honestly I don’t even know where to start.” Her son looks helplessly at Stiles, who sighs but steps forward and he starts talking.

 

“I woke up about an hour ago now, coughing up something black and viscous that neither of us could identify. There was a something else stuck in my throat and I almost suffocated on it, but Scott helped. We don’t exactly know what happened and while I’m pretty sure this was a one time thing, Scott wants us to make sure there is nothing obvious wrong with me. Other than the usual.” He’s concise, to the point, no babbling or sarcasm to be found and it unnerves her.

 

Melissa flinches unconsciously. The last time she heard that matter-of-fact tone from him, it was a fox hiding behind the face of her almost-son. He's tense too, like a wire about to snapl.

 

Melissa has been a nurse for years. She knows how to swallow her apprehension and appear calm, even when she doesn't actually feel it. It's a necessary skill for dealing with patients. And right now, Stiles is her patient.

 

“Well, get on up over here then.” She motions for Stiles to sit on the examinaton table. “Take off your shirt and jacket.”

 

For all that Stiles can be bristly at times, he follows instructions easily enough. Melissa checks his mouth and throat, then gets a stethoscope and listens to his lungs. “Take a deep breath” she tells him and hears no rattling when he does as he’s told.

 

“Well your lungs and airways are clear. Your throat will be sore for at least a day probably, but you’re not bleeding anywhere. However, you do look frankly terrible, so I’m giving you a full check-up just to be sure.” It earns her a frown, but with a curt nod Stiles agrees. Behind her, she can feel Scott shifting awkwardly as he waits for her to give a clean bill of health to his best friend.

 

She takes Stiles’ pulse, blood pressure and measures his temperature, then checks his blood sugar, which gives her pause. “When was the last time you ate?”

 

He looks at her with something that might be annoyance or something else, but it’s hidden fast. “Last night. We had pizza and popcorn. Why?”

 

Her frown deepens. “Well your blood sugar is low and so is your body temperature. I’m willing to chart the second one up to you driving to the hospital in pyjamas, but you need to eat something before you collapse. Scott is gonna get you something from the vending machine.” She turns to him. “Take some money out of my wallet if you need to. You know where to find everything.” She waits until Scott is out of the room to ask her next question. It's not because she thinks Stiles wouldn't talk with Scott in the room, but she doesn't need to worry about her son's reactions too when dealing with this.

 

“How much sleep did you get last week?” Stiles blinks at her.

 

“Enough.” He still sounds empty, like he’s not even there. His mind is wandering or focused elsewhere, but on what she couldn’t say.

 

“More than eight hours over seven days?”

 

That, at last, makes him smile. It’s a small, self-disparaging thing and gone as soon as it appears, but at least he's looking at her now and his eyes are almost focused. “I’ve been sleeping at least six hours every night for the past week. I didn’t remember my dreams, so I just assumed the nightmares were getting better and didn’t worry about it too much.”

 

“But they weren’t?” They had assumed that the brain scans were wrong, a fiction by the Fox to put even more strain on Stiles’ already straining psyche. ‘Psychological warfare’ is what the sheriff called it, but if Stiles is still displaying symptoms… Then again anyone would have nightmares after what had happened. Melissa has a few of her own that she has to deal with. Stiles features heavily in most of them.

 

“Not exactly. I suppose you could say they got worse.” His laugh is breathy through his rasping throat and without humor.

 

No, that doesn't sound good at all. “Stiles.” she says, carefully. “have you been taking your medication?”

 

“No. Not since October.”

 

“Not at all?” That… makes no sense. Stiles always takes his medication. He takes it religiously, never missing a dose. He even stashed some of it at their house in case of unplanned late nights and sleepovers.

 

“Well the Fox didn't take it for me, obviously. I didn't get it in Eichen, because that place is certainly not gonna win any awards for competent medical practice. And after I just… didn't.”

 

This boy is still not making any more sense.  “Stiles… you told me the Adderall wasn't working last time you came to me. That was in November.”

 

“Yes. Well it can't work if you're not taking it, can it? The Fox messed with my mind even before it fully took over. Made me believe I'd already taken it when I hadn't. Made me forget about it entirely some days. I guess the withdrawal was supposed make me give in faster.”

 

It makes a sick sort of sense she thinks and then hates the thought immediately. She shakes her head and pushes it away. She can get angry later. Now is not the time.

 

“And after? Why haven't you started taking it again? Stiles, you don't have that prescription for fun. You know this.” He does. She knows he does and that's what makes all this so incomprehensible.

 

Stiles looks at her with a quiet intensity that begs for her understanding, but that she has no hope to decipher.

 

“I thought I had.”

 

The door opens before she has time to figure out what that means.

  


**~*~**

**Scott**

  


Scott returns to the exam room with three chocolate bars and a soda in hand, to find Stiles and his mother exactly where he left them. Stiles jumps off the table as soon as the door opens, takes the soda from Scott and has chugged the whole thing before the door falls shut.

 

“Thanks for that.” he says, crumpling the can. His voice is still rough, but his hands have stopped shaking, which Scott should think would be a good thing, but something about the situation just doesn’t sit right with him.

 

Actually, there is a lot about this situation that doesn't sit right with him. Stiles’ switch from frenzied panic to inexplicable calm is just the tip of the iceberg. Something is _wrong_ , and he can’t put a finger on it and it's frustrating as much as it is terrifying.

 

“No problem.” He says and hands Stiles one of the chocolate bars. He takes it silently and without looking Scott in the eye.

 

‘ _Why won't you just talk to me?’_ Scott thinks. _‘I thought we were past this!’_

 

He doesn't say it, even if he can't explain why. Really, what more could go wrong if he just came out and asked?

 

But while Stiles chews, instead of opening his mouth, Scott turns to his mother.

 

“So what’s the verdict?” He looks expectantly at her as they wait for an answer. She startles, looking up at Scott like she was too lost in thought hadn’t noticed he was there. She uses the time that Stiles needs to finish his second chocolate bar to collect herself before speaking.

 

“Well, Stiles, you won’t die of whatever it is that happened, though from what you’ve told me you very well could have. You’re lucky Scott was there. I have to tell you, I have absolutely no idea what caused this. I'm a nurse, not an expert in the supernatural. So, I cannot tell you if it’s going to happen again. But, as I said, your airways are unobstructed, your lungs are clear and free of fluid and you seem healthy overall, given the circumstances. I would keep you here for observation for the night, but I don’t think that’s going to happen, is it?”

 

What an odd feeling it is, to feel a weight lift of your shoulders while your heart stops at the same time. Stiles is fine, but he could have _died_. They don’t know if and when this could happen again and a glance at Stiles tells him that he will remain just as tight lipped about the situation as he has been all night.

 

True to Scott's thoughts, Stiles shakes his head and swallows the rest of his third chocolate bar. “No, Melissa. That’s not happening. I can't stay here.”

 

Scott shares a look with his mom. In her eyes he can see his own worry reflected, but she isn’t surprised either. “As I thought. In that case, I’m going to insist that you, Scott, keep an eye on him. Stiles, make sure you get yourself warm and get some more sleep tonight. _Take your Adderall._ And if anything else happens call me _immediately_.”

 

“Of course, mom.” He hadn't planned on letting Stiles out of his sight anyway. Not even for even a second. Not if he could help it.

 

Stiles just nods in reply. “Are we done here, then? Not to rush or anything, but I really don't want to spend any more time in this hospital than I have to. You coming, Scott?” The look Stiles sends him feels like it could scorch a hole through Scott if it lingered any longer. He’s not given much of a choice. If he says no, Stiles will just go off on his own. He’ll find a way, somehow he always does, and now that he’s no longer shaking with panic and gasping for breath, Scott has no argument to keep him. That said, nothing about this feels even remotely right.

 

His mom seems a bit put out by Stiles’ hurry, but she lets them go easily enough. She's still at work after all, and has more than just them to worry about.

 

Once out the door, Stiles turns towards the elevators walking down the hallway with a long, even stride. There is an unusual fluidity to the way he moves, different from the forced stillness Scott had noticed before, but also by far not the same as the normal, clumsy spazzing. It's like Stiles gained an intrinsic understanding of motion economy overnight.

 

It's frightening for reasons that Scott still cannot place.

 

The elevator dings. Scott tries to use the few seconds they spend trapped in the metal box trying to talk to Stiles again, but Stiles doesn't even seem to hear him.

 

His eyes are focused on the doors of the elevator as if they hold the answers to the secrets of the universe. When they arrive on the fourth floor, he walks out of the cabin and down the hall without so much as a backwards glance. The way he doesn't even acknowledge Scott, it's almost as if Stiles is in a trance.

 

Scott follows after him, but when he turns the corner Stiles pats him on the shoulder and Scott freezes. Not just figuratively. He cannot move, can't so much as twitch. His muscles are locked, frozen in place and all he can do is stare at Stiles(? Is this Stiles? No, it has to be. The Fox is-)  as he leans over and whispers “Don't interfere.” into Scott's ear which makes no sense until he takes a step backwards and Scott can look over his shoulder and he sees…

 

Noshiko Yukimura stands in the middle of the hallway, with a katana strapped to her waist and murderous fury in her eyes.

 

“Do you recognise me?” she asks, but while her voice could cut steel, Scott can smell the uncertainty and fear she feels.

 

A tremor runs through his friend and then Stiles starts laughing. It's a cold, humorless laugh and it's rattling through Stiles’ still raspy throat in a way that chills Scott to the bone. He wants to see Stiles’ expression, but he has his back turned to Scott now, and he still can't move, so there is nothing he can do.

 

“‘Do I recognise you’? You've asked me that question already and you know it tells you nothing. At this point, if I didn't recognise you there'd be something seriously wrong with me.” he stops talking to take another step forward, putting himself in between Scott and Mrs Yukimura. “But that's what you're afraid of, isn't it?”

 

“I don't fear you.” she denies, but she's trembling.

 

Stiles shakes his head. “Let's not lie to each other. I'm too tired to play this game with you again. You are afraid. I can taste your fear as easily as I can see you standing there. You're afraid to find out what I am, you fear that you have sacrificed everything for nothing. Your tails and your honor and your daughter’s trust, to defeat an enemy that you wouldn't have had, had you not summoned it yourself. You fear that you killed an innocent boy with your mistake and you fear that the killing will never stop because your demon cannot be banished and will follow you forever. So ask the questions that you actually want to ask, so we can get this over with. I have more important things to deal with than you.”

 

Scott is struggling against the hold of whatever it is Stiles did to hold him in place and how is Stiles doing this? What is he talking about?! Stiles is human! _(isn't he?)_ Scott is using all his strength, but he can't do more than blink as Mrs Yukimura takes a step forward and unsheathes the sword. Scott recognises it now as the one Kira reforged. Does Kira know what her mother is doing with it?

 

She raises the blade, ready to stab Stiles in the next move. Why is he just standing there? What is he doing?! Scott wants to yell, wants to scream, but his voice is as paralysed as the rest of him. No sound leaves him. He throws everything he has against his invisible restraints, but there is no give. He's stuck.

 

They came here for help. They came here _to help_. Scott hadn't quite believed Stiles when he said that he could heal their friends because it had seemed too sudden, too easy. It doesn't seem so easy anymore.

 

He wants to scream, but he is voiceless, wants to fight, but he is helpless. It's been a long time since he has actually felt this weak and useless.

 

Stiles tilts his head as if to study the woman in front of him from a different angle. He acts entirely disinterested in the sword against his neck. “Come on. Let's get this over with.”

 

“Are you still Stiles Stilinski?” she finally asks and there she is, voicing the question that Scott hasn't dared to ask for weeks now.

 

Stiles laughs again, though it's more a violent exhalation of breath than an actual laugh and it sounds dark. It doesn't sound like Stiles. “Lady, if I knew that I'd have fixed most of my problems. How about you tell me? Oh wait. You can't. Your Oni are gone and you won't trust my word no matter what I say, and therefore this question is just as useless as the last one. So how about we postpone this discussion and you just let me through. I need to get to Aiden and Allison. And you. Are. In. My. Way.”

 

Scott can't see Stiles’ face, but something there must have tipped the scales because Mrs Yukimura tenses, her scent going from fearful to horrified, and then she pulls back her katana and swings it in a wide arch, aiming directly at Stiles’ throat.

 

If Scott had been struggling to move before then, he's outright and desperately  fighting now. He needs to move, needs to protect Stiles. What good is being a true alpha if he can't help his friend when he needs him? Stiles needs him! Scott knows how sharp these blades are - has the scar to prove it. He _needs to move_. Stiles is dodging the swings with uncharacteristic grace, but he's still human - or at least Scott hopes he is - and one miss will be enough to end his life. Scott cannot handle that.

 

He strains every muscle he has and with a roar he frees himself.

 

He sees the blade arch through the air like flash of silver lightning. He sees Stiles land on the wrong foot, losing balance. He realises in the same second that Stiles won't be fast enough to dodge the next strike and Scott's body reacts before his mind can catch up.

 

He jumps.

 

The blade arches.

 

He feels a sudden, indescribable, burning pain.

 

Then there is nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... See you in a few weeks! :)
> 
> Seriously though, updates might stay slightly slower as I'm back at uni and have less free time now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles and Noshiko have a slight misunderstanding about how alive the other should be. And there's Derek!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who still reads this, and especially everyone who commented. I love you guys. You're awesome.
> 
> Also, to my lovely beta [Satan](http://satandidnothingwrong.tumblr.com/) without whom this chapter would have gone in a slighly different and by far less logical direction; Thank you for being amazing.

 

**Stiles**

 

Stiles hits the floor the same time Scott does, but it still feels like he’s watching him fall in slow motion.

 

Later, Stiles would explain his reaction as an effect of new instincts running rampant. As a reaction to the stress, the constant fear and anxiety, the hypertension and panic he was feeling at that point, some left over influence from the Other. He would explain it as part of the backlash from not taking his medication in months, of his scattered thoughts, of a still healing mind.

 

The truth is that he sees Scott's blood spilled by another and his vision goes white. He rises from the floor slowly, mind wiped clean of thought by burning rage. He doesn’t notice that Noshiko has lowered the blade in horror at what she has done. There are only two things that register. They are: _‘Scott is hurt’_ and _‘She must pay for this’._

 

As he loses control of the foxfire, the lights above them start flickering. When the first fluorescent tube bursts, it rains a shower of sparks and glass down between them. Stiles lets out a low, threatening sound that is half hiss and half growl, and even though he can't see himself, he knows his eyes are burning silver.

 

Noshiko is taking some quick steps backwards, quickly raising the katana again to defend herself. She is too old and too experienced to let her emotions influence her fighting. Stiles, on the other hand, though he holds a thousand years of memories, is a fifteen year old boy and right now he is nothing if not emotional.

 

It doesn't matter that he can taste her guilt, how appalled she is by what she just did. It doesn't matter that he knows it was an accident, that she never would have done this on purpose. That knowledge is drowned out by the biting sharpness of Scott's pain. It is one of the worst things he has ever felt, but it's still tempting and Stiles _hates._ He hates himself for the urges he can barely control, hates the Other for doing this to him. He hates this woman for interfering, for hurting Scott when all Scott ever wants is to protect people. He almost wants to hate Melissa, too, for delaying them. Had they gotten here sooner, would they have been faster than her? How long had she been waiting for Stiles to turn up?

 

He has never cared for this woman, but, unlike the Other, he has never wished her harm either. Now that he has seen Scott bleeding on the floor, his shirt torn and ruined and his back cut open, that is something entirely different. He can’t even bring himself to think her name, he’s so full of rage.

 

He isn't a shifter, has no animal form to fall back on, no claws and fangs with which to tear the woman apart. So he makes due with what he has. What he has is foxfire that she is immune to, being a kitsune herself, and illusions that will hold until she realises they are fake. Neither will help him here. What else he has are his fists and blunt teeth and fury.

 

She has more experience, more grace and even in her fear she is by far less erratic, but Stiles is quicker, unpredictable, and entirely ruthless. Any kindness he might have had before has bled out of him, through the wound in Scott’s back.

 

He flies at her with speeds he didn't know he had, dodges her sword, tries to get into her personal space. She has range and technique on him and a distant part of him thinks that it's unfair that she brought a sword to a fist fight. He misses his bat. Dodging another swing, he tries to aim a punch at her right elbow, make her lose her grip. She is faster and the attempt almost costs Stiles his head, leaving a thin red line across his throat that burns like acid.

 

It doesn’t stop him from trying again. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing. He has no plan, not even an improvised one. Nothing beyond _‘get that sword away from her and then get_ her’. It’s about as effective as one would expect. The best Stiles can say for himself is that he’s gotten incredibly good at dodging since yesterday.

 

He hisses again, skipping back a few feet. Stopping for maybe half a second let's himself breathe and in that instant a new instinct starts whispering to him. He is a Nogitsune now and Nogitsune specialise in weaknesses and breaking points and the none-being of things. They slide in through cracks in the walls, make their home in the chinks of an armor. They don't attack directly. Subterfuge and manipulation are their game.  

 

It's not hard to find the flaw in her guard, the misstep in her pattern. It's there for just a fraction of a second, but it is there. If he times it right… He shakes his head, as if to clear water from his ears and tries again. This time, he moves more fluently, taking his rage and instead of letting it control him, reshaping it into deadly focus. He dodges another horizontal swing and - _there -_ manages to slip under her guard and close into her personal space.

 

Standing so close to him, she has a harder time swinging her sword, her long reach now working to her disadvantage, and after he dances around her blade one more time, Stiles manages to catch her wrist. He twists it until she lets out a pained sound and lets go of the sword’s hilt. Then, in a flash of viciousness that might not be entirely his own, he twists further until he hears the bone snap.

 

White hot fury is still burning through his veins. He wants her gone! He wants her as far away from Scott and himself as physically possible. He never wants to see her face again, but memory tells him this woman is persistent. She has been hunting him for seventy years and she will not stop until she has achieved what she came here for - to kill the Nogitsune that she called - to kill whom she thinks Stiles is.

 

Stiles, however, doesn't want to die and whatever sympathy he might had for her plight has long since been exhausted. The world has pushed and pushed him and he's had enough. He will not give a single inch, will not take any more. He deserves better than this and if Stiles does then Scott deserves the world and more. He doesn’t deserve to bleed out on cold linoleum, while Stiles fights off a threat that was never aimed at Scott in the first place.

 

When the blade clatters to the floor, Stiles wastes no time. He kicks it down the corridor, away from all three of them, then pins the woman who _‘hurt Scott, hurt what is his, how dare she?!’_ to the wall, a hand wrapped around her neck. He has no claws and she should be grateful, for if he did he'd have ripped her throat out. She's a Kitsune and nine hundred years old. She hasn't survived this long by being an easy opponent. Even weakened as she is by the loss of her tails, there are only a few ways to permanently kill one like her. Stiles knows them all now, but he doesn't have the time.

 

Oh but something in him _wishes._

 

Behind them, Scott lays quiet, bleeding and motionless. If Stiles hadn't still been sensing his pain, he would have thought him dead. He snarls at the woman, sees his own silver eyes reflecting in her gray ones and squeezes his hand closed around her windpipe.

 

“You hurt him.” Stiles doesn't even recognise his own voice. Part of him knows he shouldn't be doing this, but it's small and easily ignored, drowned out under a louder voice that is urging him to _rip/tear/hurt/protect_. This woman harmed Scott and Stiles’ control was flimsy even before. Now he has lost any semblance of it: hate and rage and an incandescent, protective fury so intense it's drowning out all rational thought, hold him in their grasp. He’s adrift in emotion with no way out, but he can’t bring himself to care.

 

He squeezes tighter.

 

The woman’s eyes are wide with panic, her lips slowly turning purple. She's clawing at Stiles’ arm, leaving bloody, red marks with blunt human fingernails, but Stiles holds firm.

 

He holds firm and he doesn't let go, not until her fingers grow weak and then slack against his arms. Not until her eyes close and her body goes limp and Stiles grip on her is the only thing keeping her upright. He barely wastes time on checking her pulse. He knows she's just unconscious and probably already healing.

 

Carelessly, he lets her drop to the floor. He doesn't have much time. Someone should have heard the commotion and alerted security by now.

 

Running back the way he came he skirts to a halt next to Scott and falls to his knees by his side.

 

“Scott! Scotty, oh my god! Come on, Scott. Wake up, please!” but it's no use. Scott stays unresponsive and entirely too still.

 

The cut across his back is long and deep. Slowly, with trembling fingers, Stiles pulls the blood soaked shirt and jacket away from the wound to get a better view. He chokes back on a sob when he sees it uncovered. Kitsune blades are special and not in a good way. They are forged with the same celestial steel as the Oni’s blades and can be just as deadly. If the cut had been any deeper it would have severed Scott's spine. Stiles growls because all he can do now is watch as Scott is still bleeding. He isn't healing, losing too much blood and his breathing is shallow. He needs help, but the corridor is deserted. They are in a hospital, for fucks sake. Where the hell are the doctors when you need them?!

 

Stiles is shaking. If he loses Scott now after everything, he doesn't know what he will do. It was already a struggle to let her fall unconscious instead of snapping her neck and he only did it because Scott needs him. He hates the power his emotions and instincts have over him and if Stiles hadn't forgiven Scott before, for all the times he'd almost killed when he was freshly turned, then now he definitely would have. He understands now. He thought he did before but now he truly does.

 

With emotions running high and control hanging by a threat, the added panic doesn't help him thinking clearly. He rips off his jacket, balls it up and presses it against the wound to stem the blood flow. Stiles is breathing heavily and he thinks his heart should be pounding even if it isn't. No one is coming. Why is no one coming? He's alone in the corridor with a bleeding Scott and an unconscious enemy/ally/friend? He doesn’t know how to think of her so he chooses not to think of her at all. _‘Why couldn't she just have left me alone?’_

 

 _“_ Help!” he tries to shout, pressing down harder. “I need help!” But his throat is still raw, he can’t raise his voice, and no one hears him.

 

No one answers. The patients in their rooms are sleeping and the nurses all seem to have vanished into thin air somewhere. The small corner of his brain that isn’t currently panicking distantly wonders if the woman had something to do with this. Did she want to confront him alone so badly? What did she think he would do, if there were others around? Was she as concerned about collateral damage as Stiles himself had been when he cast the illusion on Scott to keep him in place so he couldn’t get in the way if things got ugly? Not that it helped any. He should have realised that he couldn't keep Scott contained for long.

 

He shakes his head. Her motives are none of Stiles’ concern. Scott is, and he’s still bleeding. It’s not a mystery to him, why Scott isn’t healing but he had hoped he’d be wrong. Maybe there really is nothing he can do.

 

A thought strikes him.

 

The girl. The girl whose pain he took and who had been perfectly fine the day after when she should have had a massive concussion. Maybe it had been just luck, but since when does he get to be that lucky? If it worked once then maybe-

 

He doesn't know if it will work, he doesn't know how it could; Nogitsune are dark spirits, not meant for healing, but there is nothing else he can do, nothing else he can think of. He could try to shout for help again, but this isn't just a normal, everyday cut. Stitches won't keep this closed. No one is coming and what they need is a miracle, but all Stiles has to offer is himself.

 

So he pulls away his blood soaked jacket, lays his hands on each side of the wound, sends up a silent prayer to every God he doesn't believe in and _pulls._

 

Pain. Cutting, sharp edged pain runs up his arms through his veins in lines of black, leaving him with the taste of blood and metal in the back of his throat.

 

For a moment it's wonderful. Suddenly all the places inside of him, that Stiles hadn't noticed were freezing, are filled with heat. His shaking hands grow still and his racing thoughts fall quiet. Just for a second, everything is calm and he can breathe.

 

The more pain he takes the more his muscles relax and there is an unmistakable, rapturous pleasure in taking the energy that it feeds him. The discrepancy between the absolute, unadulterated bliss his body is in and the terrified, horror-struck disgust he feels at seeing Scott like this makes him dizzy, nauseated. Taking pain is as easy as breathing, but what he's doing is not just that. He is drawing the magic out of the injury as well, and it _doesn't want to let go_ . He's sweating from the effort and his vision is swimming, but his mind is clear and sharp and focused on one thing only. _Scott._

 

Oni blades are nasty pieces of work, but while the wounds cut with them heal slower, they still heal. This sword, however, is celestial steel twice forged in foxfire. The magic in the blade is potent and deadly. Obviously, this is the reason why she brought it here to face him.

 

It hurts to pull in this kind of magic, like a deep taint in his blood that burns, cuts, as if he is taking splintered glass into himself rather than spellwork. This is magic casted with the intend to kill and Stiles will not let it have Scott. He cannot. So he grits his teeth and keeps at it, no matter how much it aches.

 

He doesn't know how much time passes. When there is nothing left to take, no more pain and no more magic, his blood is boiling hot like lava. Stiles is almost hyperventilating, crackling with energy, sweat dripping of his face and panting hard from the exertion.

 

‘ _Did it work? Is he healing?’_ he asks himself, still a bit woozy.

 

Something behind him moves. He has just enough time to see that the bleeding has stopped and Scott's wound has begun to close before he has to dodge and a streak of silver steel splits the air where his head was a second ago.

 

“Get away from the boy!” Stiles hears the shout and the rage, that his concern for Scott had temporarily buried, flares back up again. What, did she want him to let him die?

 

“God damnit, lady. What the fuck is your problem?!” his voice sounds like a bad Batman imitation, which Stiles would usually joke about, but he is too frustrated, too angry and too scared to keep a hold of himself at the moment.

 

When he looks at her, he sees a mess. Her eyes are wide and filled with terror, her hair is dishevelled and there is an angry purple bruise around her neck. Stiles probably doesn't look much better himself. She's holding the sword in her left hand, the right still dangling uselessly at her side. He feels a pang of guilt at the sight, but it's gone the next second when he has to duck under the blade again.

 

One would think that in 900 years of life Noshiko Yukimura would have had the time to learn how to deal with her emotions in other ways than by killing people. But then he remembers the reasons for Other’s summoning - why they are in this situation at all. This one has a history of not reacting well to fear and anger, to put it mildly.

 

 _“You_ are my problem, Demon! You are everyone's problem! I've let others handle you, but I see now that I cannot trust them to finish the job. If my daughter and her friends are too soft to end you, then I will!” The next swing would have cut open his shoulder if Stiles hadn't jumped back in the last second. He's now standing directly above Scott and Noshiko is advancing again.

 

His mind races. He needs to come up with a plan, make a decision, fast. He cannot leave Scott in the line of fire.

 

As he sees it, there are three options: First, now that Scott’s wound is (hopefully, mostly) taken care of, he could fight and hope to win, killing her or disabling her long enough for him and Scott to escape. It's not assured that he would be able to beat her though and Stiles will not take chances here.

 

Second, he could try to distract or stall her long enough for hospital personnel to arrive, tend to Scott and have her arrested. That, however, is not going to happen either because if they haven't gotten here by now, Stiles doesn't trust them to get there before Scott could get hurt again. And what if his theory is right and Noshiko did indeed do something to keep people away from here? No, he can’t wait for help..

 

So he's stuck with option three: Run and hope she will follow and therefore leave Scott alone.

 

Leaving Scott is the last thing he wants, but Scott is in danger as long as both Stiles and the woman are close by. Stiles did all he could in what little time he had. He will have to trust Scott's healing and, once she gets here, Melissa’s expertise from here on out. There is nothing more he can do and if he cannot end the fight or remove Scott from it, then he will remove the fight from Scott. So after he dodges under the next swing, he propellers himself forward and past his opponent, faster than she can react and then he runs down the hallway as fast as he can.

 

A thought disables the alarm on the safety door with a light application of foxfire, and in the next moment he's on the fire escape, running down flights of stairs as quickly as he can manage. Behind him, he can hear her in pursuit. Even hurt as she still is, she's almost as fast as him and as soon as Stiles reaches the bottom of the stairs he turns and disappears in the direction opposite of the hospital parking lot. It's where she would expect him to go.

 

He turns a corner, heads immediately for the darkest shadows he can see. Casting the illusion that will hide him from sight takes almost no effort at all. The darkness welcomes him like a long lost friend and when she turns the corner she doesn't see him. He hears her curses, sees her looking for him, but he's secure in the knowledge that she can't find him. Illusions are his strength, or at least they were the Other’s. If he wants her to see nothing, she will see nothing.

 

It takes her longer than Stiles expects to give up searching, but eventually he watches her sheath the katana and walk back towards the hospital.

 

He waits another ten minutes after she is out of sight before dropping the illusion and stepping out of the shadow.

 

He hesitates. The plan worked, or so he hopes. Scott is safe and so is Stiles - at least for now. Noshiko has no reason to harm anyone, now that Stiles has removed himself from the scene. He wants desperately to run back to the hospital, check on Scott and make sure his earlier, split second assessment of Scott's healing wasn't just wishful thinking. But he can't. If she's not completely stupid, and Stiles knows she isn't, that's exactly where the old vixen will expect him to go.

 

She thinks that Stiles is the Other, and she wants him dead because of it. It doesn't surprise him, not really. It's not an unreasonable assumption for her to make. It's not even completely wrong. He isn't the old Nogitsune, not by a long shot. He is himself and a completely new being, but he remembers being It. One thousand years of memories have changed him, are still changing him but he refuses to become That.

 

She doesn’t know that though. Stiles can’t be sure where she will go once she realizes that he won’t be back. Will she keep guarding Allison and Aiden, forcing him to leave them where they are, or will she come looking for him?

 

Stiles would have been more than happy to lay all her fears and doubts to rest, had she caught him at any time when he wasn't completely out of his mind and starving without even noticing. But she did, and he was. And so he snapped at her and she overreacted and now Scott was the one bearing the consequences.

 

He can't go back, not as long as she’s still waiting for him there, but there is one thing he can do for Scott.

 

He digs his phone out of his pocket and calls Melissa.

 

**~*~**

 

To say that Melissa is not amused by what Stiles tells her, would be an understatement of colossal proportions. He hardly expected her to be. No one would be happy to find their son in a puddle of his own blood and then hear that his supposed best friend had just left him there. Stiles’ refusal to explain what happened does nothing to sway her in his favor either.

 

It seems that whatever Noshiko did to keep people off the fourth floor dispersed the moment she left the building and Scott is found and retrieved easily enough. Melissa is not happy that Stiles just left him lying there. He probably could have heard her screaming even without the aid of cell phones and her tirade teaches him two new curses he probably won’t get to use until he’s moved out, to a different state. He doesn't even attempt to explain himself because he agrees. Leaving Scott was an asshole move and he wishes his didn’t have to have done it. However, he made the choice and Scott is alive, healing and in good hands, so it seems to have been the right one.

 

With his ears still ringing and the resolve to beg for Melissa’s forgiveness later, Stiles hangs up and puts the phone away.

 

And finds himself at loss for what to do now. He can't go back to the hospital, where Noshiko is waiting for him to be that exact kind of stupid. He can't drive himself home, since Scott still has the keys to his jeep. It's past 4 AM, it's cold out, he's wearing nothing but his pyjamas since he left his jacket soaked through with blood on the floor next to Scott. The cold strangely doesn't bother him, but the lack of jacket means that he neither has his wallet, and therefore can't pay for a taxi, nor is staying out for long likely to be healthy. Just because the cold doesn't bother him doesn't mean he can't still get frostbite.

 

He wants to go home. It’s the latest stupid idea in the long string of stupid ideas that make up this night. The anger and rage have left him and been replaced with guilt and exhaustion. He shouldn’t have fought Noshiko when she attacked him, shouldn’t have goaded her when he had the chance to explain. He should have done so many things differently and now she’s convinced that he is the villain of her story once again and Stiles isn’t safe, least of all at home which is the most obvious place for her to look for him. He should be going literally anywhere but there, but…

 

Everything is new and different and strange and he needs the comfort of something familiar. He needs to go home, if only for a little while. If only for a change of clothes before he leaves again. If only to leave a note for his dad so that he’ll know that Stiles hasn’t vanished again.

 

So he digs his phone back out and stares at his contact list. He could call his dad now. He's awake and on call at the station anyway, but the entire point is that Stiles doesn't want to worry him. Not yet, not if he doesn’t have to. He could call Lydia but she would ask him what happened and not take ‘no’ for an answer. Stiles really doesn't feel like talking about this now. Malia would have been an option, but he’s pretty sure she can't drive. Also she might punch his teeth out for waking her. For a second he considers calling Kira, just for the chaos it would cause, but then buries the thought quickly.

 

In the end, it's Derek he calls.

 

The phone gets picked up almost immediately. “What?” Derek’s voice is snappish and grumpy as ever. ‘What’ indeed. Stiles has no idea how to answer that..

 

“Derek…” God, he’s exhausted. Not so much physically as emotionally. Within the last hour he has lost his humanity, almost died, seen Scott almost die, taken a curse into himself that he has not even begun to understand, and fled for his and Scott’s lives. He has experienced panic, anxiety, anger, hatred, concern and a myriad of other emotions. Adrenaline has kept him on his feet but now that he’s safe, now that it’s over, he’s crashing. He kneels down and then sits on the freezing concrete because his legs suddenly refuse to take his weight any longer.

 

“Stiles?” That’s…? Derek’s voice? Oh, right. He called him. Called him because he needs… Right. _‘Keep it together, Stiles.’_ he thinks to himself. _‘Make him take you home, then you can crash.’_

 

He has probably taken too long to answer and he clears his throat a couple of times before speaks up again. His voice does sound a bit less raspy when he finally speaks, so there’s that at least.

 

“Hey, Derek. I... I kinda need to ask a favor of you.”

 

“A favor. You drop off the map, don't talk to anyone for months, leaving your pack and Scott half out of their minds with worry and now, after all that, you need a favor? At four in the morning?” Stiles almost winces. Derek’s voice sounds flat and Stiles is too tired to try and figure out if that’s because of concern, annoyance, anger or a combination of them all.

 

He should have known that Derek wouldn't appreciate being ignored. Fuck, he's been a right asshole lately, hasn't he? He'll have to apologise for that and not just to Derek. Not now though.

 

“Yes, a favor.” He keeps his voice down. It’s not so much out of fear of being overheard as it is because he’s had too much noise today already.

 

“You can yell at me all you like when you get here, if that sweetens the deal for you.”

 

There is a snort and then silence from the other end of the line for a while and Stiles is just about to hang up and dial his dad after all when Derek speaks again.

 

“Fine,” he bites out eventually. “What do you want?” Stiles could probably make a list with all the things he wants, write it all down neat and orderly and then wrap it around the equator twice. Item one would be for the last few months to never have happened. That’s not what Derek is asking though so he keeps the answer confined to his immediate and more realistic needs.

 

“Look, I don't want to explain all of this in over the phone, but the gist is this; Scott got hurt and I'm at the hospital with no way to get home. I need you to not worry about our favourite sunny wolf, because Melissa is taking care of him and he's going to be fine. What I do need you to do is to come pick me up and drive me home. It's fucking cold out, so if you could maybe get here before I lose a toe that'd be great.”

 

The silence on the other end of the line is shorter this time, but pregnant with something like exasperation and the ever present undercurrent of anger that is so characteristically Derek.

 

“You are going to explain yourself. When I get there.” he says, almost growling out the words. “I’ll come and get you. Try not to freeze to death until I get there.”

 

“Aww, Derek. You almost sound like you care.” Stiles teases.

 

Derek, unamused, hangs up on him.

 

**~*~**

 

The loft is a fifteen minute drive away and that’s one a day with low traffic, but Derek manages to be at the hospital less than ten minutes after Stiles puts away the phone. He uses the time to think up some way of explaining the situation which involves neither outright lies nor telling Derek the truth and comes up blank. He’ll just have to improvise.

 

Nethertheless Stiles appreciates the hurry. Being cold has lost all of its novelty weeks ago, but he still prefers the warm interior of Derek’s car.

 

There are probably about a million and twelve questions are running through Derek's head, none of which he has voiced so far, thank God. He hasn’t even started driving yet. For now, it’s just Stiles and him sitting in a car in the deserted parking lot. Scott’s blood is still clinging to his hands and now Derek’s too since Stiles hadn’t been able to get up from the ground on his own. There really is no way that he hasn’t noticed the state that Stiles is in and Stiles wonders briefly, does he smell the fox on him or is the scent of Scott’s blood too overpowering? It certainly seems that way to Stiles.

 

If Derek does notice something off with him other than the obvious, there is nothing Stiles can do about it now. He decided to call Derek rather than someone without enhanced senses like, say, his dad or Lydia. Now he'll have to deal with the consequences.

 

“Can’t you just drive already?” He asks without any real hope that Derek will listen to the request. He did tell him he could yell at him after all. An offer that Derek has yet to take him up on. In fact, he hasn’t said a word since he arrived. Stiles is glad for it. He has exhausted all his emotional capacity and now all that he feels is numb. If Derek wants a conversation Stiles is not sure he will be able to muster up enough care to participate in it. All he wants is to go home. He knows he’s not being at all fair here, calling Derek up in the middle of the night, forcing him to play chauffeur and then answering none of his questions, even unspoken as they are for now. Derek is worried. Stiles can see is easily in the crease between his brows and the tension in his silence. Stiles appreciates it but he just… he really doesn’t care anymore.

 

Derek does, though.

 

“No, Stiles. I can’t just drive already. What the fuck happened here? I thought you were just supposed to watch stupid movies and sleep. How did that end with both of you at the hospital?” he explodes. “You’re bleeding and you have Scott’s blood all over you! Were you attacked? By what? Who? And why?”

 

There come the questions, finally. And yeah, Derek deserves some answers at least but well, sometimes Stiles is glad that people expect him to be an asshole. It lets him get away with things others, like Scott or Allison, could never pull off. Like what he says next.

 

“Okay first off, it’s not ‘stupid movies’, it’s Star Wars, you heathen. And a lot of things happened tonight, alright? You’ll get your answers, probably. Eventually. Look, I know I’ve been - not exactly forthcoming. I’m sorry, okay? I could explain how that’s not exactly my fault, but I doubt you want to hear it. Look, some things happened, Scott got hurt, but now he’s taken care of and all I need is to get home. You don’t need to worry or do anything else about this. It’s handled. I’m handling it. So can you please start driving? _Now? Please?_ ” That’s bullshit and he knows it. Nothing is really handled, but the last thing he needs is for Derek to butt his head in where it’s neither needed nor wanted. What is both wanted and needed is for Derek to get with the program and drive.  He scoffs in frustration and turns away from Derek to look out of the window instead. It occurs to Stiles that calling the one most contrary person out of all the people he knows and expecting him to be anything other than contrary was another one of his stupid ideas.

 

“Stiles, I want an explanation, not excuses!” Derek growls, as if to confirm Stiles’ thought. It’s a low rumbling sound that would have been terrifying if Stiles hadn’t exhausted his emotional capacity for the day, and probably the rest of the week. As it is, the most he can scrape up the energy for in response it a tired eye roll..

 

“Yeah, that’s nice for you and all but I honestly don’t care. There is nothing else you need to know right this second. It can wait. _You_ can wait. And you will wait, because I’m not giving you any other choice, alright? I’m done. I’m done with this bullshit. You can trust me enough to believe me when I say that there is no immediate danger. And if you do, you can give me enough time to fucking rest before you start interrogating me. Now, can we get going?” He didn’t think that he’d actually had the energy to get angry again, but here they are. What do you know?

 

Derek stares at him intensely for longer than is entirely comfortable. If he hopes that Stiles will cave under the weight of his stare, he’s going to have to wait quite a while. Stiles has faced more frightening things than Derek today. Stiles _is_ a more frightening thing than Derek as of today. Wolves don’t scare him anymore. They haven’t for a while.

 

It takes another full five minutes of silent starring and stubbornness but eventually, Derek does start driving. He does it growling and pissed off, but he does in, though he keeps the thunderous expression until he drops Stiles off at his house.

 

“We will be talking about this.” he says as farewell and even under normal circumstances Stiles probably wouldn’t have cared. “But you do look like you’re going to fall over and I am capable of patience.”

 

He probably figured that he could ask Scott in the morning, or, if he’s really that desperate, call Melissa. Whatever. Derek will do what Derek will do. It’s not Stiles’ issue so long as he leaves him alone. Though if he does decide to call Melissa Stiles would give a lot to be a fly on the wall. Then he realises that he might actually be able to do that now and it sparks a sort of half breathless hysterical laughter that, judging by the look Derek shoots him, makes him look slightly insane.

 

“Are you sure you’re fine?” Derek asks after Stiles calms down again. Stiles shakes his head then says “Yes” just to mess with him a little.

 

When they arrive at his house Stiles more stumbles than steps out of the car. Derek’s concern hangs cloyingly sweet in the air and he can taste it on the back of his tongue even after he closes the door.

 

He has maybe an hour until his dad will return and find Scott isn’t where he’s supposed to be. ‘ _He was supposed to be safe, asleep in Stiles’ bed. None of this should have happened and least of all to Scott.’_  Stiles will need to be gone by then. The easier thing would be to just fall into bed and sleep and the temptation to do just that is almost irresistible. But he’s a sitting duck here and if he feels guilt for dragging Scott into this mess he can’t imagine his father getting in between Noshiko and him. He’ll have to be quick, but a shower is on the top of his priorities right now.

 

He can’t stand this anymore. Now that he has the means he needs Scott's blood off of him immediately. There would probably be better uses for his limited time, but it doesn’t matter. Also, he will probably be harder to track if he doesn’t smell of blood.

 

So he trudges up the stairs and into the bathroom, strips and steps into the shower.

 

He turns the water up as hot as it will go and washes his skin until it’s raw, pink and almost bleeding. He can’t get all of the blood out from under his fingernails no matter how hard he scrubs, but eventually he has to give up or risk his dad arriving before he can leave.

 

He hides his blood stained clothes and puts on new, warmer ones, then he goes looking for his Adderall. He finds it exactly where it’s supposed to be, which fucks with his brain a little. It’s been sitting right there for months and Stiles has been walking past it every day, not noticing because the parasyte in his brain had decided It didn’t want him to. He stares at the small, orange bottle of pills for a full minute before he unscrews the cap and swallows one of the pills dry.

 

It’s time to get his fucking life back.

 

He writes his dad a note in which he tells him that he doesn’t intend to stay gone for long, which is true. He will deal with the Noshiko situation one way or the other but it’s easier, safer, to let her come to him instead of waiting for her to show up.

 

Then he grabs a spare set of keys and disappears out into the night.

 

**~*~**

**Scott**

 

The time between waking up and arriving at his house will remain a mystery to Scott for the rest of his life. He fell unconscious to pain and the desperate hope that Stiles wouldn’t die. He wakes up to his ears ringing and a muffled voice calling his name. Remembering where he is and how he got there takes a while and by the time he does, his mother is kneeling next to him and telling him not to move too fast. Then she’s helping him up, draping something over his shoulders and the next thing he knows is that he’s sitting on the couch at home. Having an entire chunk of time missing from his memory somehow doesn’t register as anything more than a mildly concerning and curious fact.  It’s probably because of the shock.

 

Stiles is… Scott doesn’t even know. Something. Apparently. There is no denying that, though denial had been such a happy place to be. There had been so many signs that he’d ignored, so much that he had ascribed to anything other than what it actually was because Scott hadn’t wanted to know, hadn’t wanted to examine his own suspicions for fear that they might be true. He’d done Stiles and himself a disservice that he’s not sure he’ll be able to correct.

 

Because now Mrs Yukimura thinks Stiles is dangerous, so much so that she attacked him over it, and as much as Scott still hates to think it, she might be right.

 

Someone slaps him, startling him out of his thoughts. Scott blinks slowly and oh. That’s his mom. Where did she come from?

 

“I’ve called your name three times now, Scott.” Oh, yeah. That’s definitely the shock. He hadn’t even noticed how deep he’d sunken into his own thoughts.

 

“Sorry.” He mumbles apologetically. “Got lost in thought.”

 

“Yes, so I noticed.” She says and her worry is obvious. “Scott, you’re in shock. I have no idea what happened, but I can wait for an explanation until tomorrow. You need to rest. You need to sleep, but before that I need to take a look at your back. Can you turn around for me?”

 

He does, pulling off his shirt and laying down on his stomach to give her better access. He feels no pain at all, so he must have healed already. Even if he has no idea how long he was actually out or how deep the wound had been, that seems too fast. He’s a werewolf, not Deadpool. There should at least be a scratch left, right? Something? It had taken days to heal from the stab he got that day outside of Deaton’s clinic.

 

“Well at least you won’t need stitches. There was so much blood, I thought this would be far worse but there’s... nothing. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She sounds like she’s not quite sure if she should be happy that he’s unharmed or be freaked out by what that fact implicates.

 

She leaves him there and returns a moment later with a moist towel that she uses to clean the blood off of him. It’s cold and the rough strokes of the terrycloth jolt him fully back into reality. There is a question he should be asking, but he’s afraid of what the answer will be if he does. He doesn’t get to decide whether or not he wants to know, though, because his mom takes the conversation there without Scott’s input.

 

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked about Stiles yet.” she says. Her voice is quiet now, full of concerned curiosity and Scott can’t bring himself to be anything but entirely honest. He’s too tired.

 

“I’m not sure I want to know. I don’t know what…” he trails off because he doesn’t know how to end that sentence. ’I don’t know what he did after I passed out and I’m afraid to find out’? ‘I don’t know what happened and I’m afraid Mrs Yukimura is right, we’ve all been played, Stiles is long dead and this is still the Nogitsune, playing mind games and I’ve done nothing but clinging to a memory for months’? ‘I’m afraid that I’m overreacting and accusing my best friend of things that I should trust he would never do, but I’m not sure if he’s still who I think he is?’

 

 _‘Are you still Stiles Stilinski?’_ Mrs Yukimura had asked and Stiles hadn’t answered, not really. Even if it’s not a trick, if Stiles himself doesn’t know then how is Scott supposed to?

 

“Scott, listen to me.” her voice is still quiet but there is an imploring undercurrent to it now. “I don’t know what happened, but Stiles sounded pretty out of it when he called me. And then I found you with that blood all over you.  You were there alone, and there’s not a scratch on you now but you have obviously been hurt… I have to wonder. Where did Stiles go, why did he leave you there and is he alright? He didn’t explain anything, hung up as soon as I told him you would be okay.” Scott almost thinks he hears guilt in her voice, but it might just be his imagination. He’s not getting the full story here, that much is clear. There is something else that takes up his attention though.

 

“Wait. Stiles called you?” Scott turns around as far as he can without getting up when he asks the question. He needs to see his mother’s face when she answers.

 

“Yes. He told me where to look for you. Seemed convinced that no one would find you otherwise, which I find unlikely, as you were in the middle of a hospital hallway. Those never stay empty for long.”

 

Scott can’t help it. He perks up at the words. “But you did find me because of him.” Against his better judgement there is hope swelling in his chest. Stiles called his mother because he was concerned for him. He wouldn’t have done that, if he didn’t still care. Whatever else may have happened tonight, if that is still true then they might get through what comes next intact.

 

It doesn’t explain what happened to Mrs Yukimura though, or while Stiles had felt the need to leave and call Scott’s mom at all, rather than staying and helping Scott himself.

 

Though there is much more than needs to be said, the conversation trails off after that. Scott needs to find out were Stiles went, needs to ask him what really happened tonight and then deal with whatever the answer is. His mother has questions of her own that need answering, but as she puts away the towel and sends him upstairs to rest and recover he thinks that maybe these things can wait until morning.

 

All except for one. Pulling his phone out of the pocket of his ruined jacket, he sends a text to Stiles.

 

**Chat with: Stiles Stilinski, 12|10|2011**

**[sent, 05:43] are you safe?**

 

It takes a while before there is an answer, but Scott stares at the screen of his phone and refuses to let his eyes fall shut until there is an answer. It’s a battle, but his anxious concern wins out over the exhaustion for long enough in the end.

 

**[received, 06:01] Yes**

 

And as much as he needs to know what’s going on, as much as he told himself that he wouldn’t rest until he knows for sure that Stiles is going to be fine, the phone falls out of Scott’s limp fingers in the next moment and then he knows nothing.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are going to be slower from now on as the real world continues to claim more and more of my free time. ~~I'm in a Zine!!! :O~~
> 
> I'll try to keep updating at least once a month.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some, but not all, problems are solved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this both went faster and took longer than I expected. Anyway, this chapter is almost 10k so I'm satisfied.
> 
> Thanks go, as always, to everyone who reads in general, everyone who comments in particular, and my spectacular beta [Satan](http://satandidnothingwrong.tumblr.com/) especially.

**~*~**

**Scott**

 

 

The sun is high in the sky by the time Scott rolls out of bed, bleary eyed and groggy from sleep and the exhaustion of the night before. He rubs a hand over his face, through his hair and down his neck, then stops.

 

Someone is in his room.

 

He feels the eyes burning into the back of his neck and slowly extends his claws as he turns around.

 

It’s Derek, standing against the opposite wall and looking, for all intents and purposes, like a very grumpy piece of home decoration.

 

“Derek! What are you doing here?” Scott says, resigned and pulls his claws back. “How long have you been standing there?”

 

Derek raises an eyebrow and snorts, which he somehow managed to do without showing any sort of amusement. “A few minutes.” He looks annoyed too, which doesn’t tell Scott much about his actual mood, since that is his standard expression.

 

“You didn't answer your phone. What happened to you last night?” Derek continues, saying the words as if they are all the explanation that's needed as to why he broke into Scott’s room and watched him sleep and maybe it is, to Derek. Scott shivers a little at the thought, still. Boundaries and personal space, two things Derek Hale cares far too little for.

 

He rubs his face again. A shower. That’s what he needs. A shower to wake up and clear his head and then he'll call Stiles and make him talk because, seriously. What the hell?

 

He leans down to pick up the phone from where he dropped it last night, trying to ignore Derek's staring. There are two missed calls on the display, neither of them from Stiles. Not that he expected them to be. Hoped yes, but not expected.

 

He’s disappointed anyway.

 

Checking the messages has him stumped for a second before he blinks and narrows his eyes at the screen. As expected, one of them is from Derek, timed roughly thirty minutes ago. The other is from Stiles’ dad and that is- that's weird. Scott has no idea what Derek could want, but the sheriff never calls him and the fact that he did now, after everything that happened yesterday, makes Scott’s stomach sink through the floor.

 

The sheriff never calls because he usually never has to. If he wants something from Scott, which happens rarely enough, he either calls Stiles, because Scott and Stiles are almost always together, or, if he can't reach Scott that way, he calls Melissa on their landline. Usually it’s either Scott or Stiles who has to call the sheriff because most things that happen in Beacon Hills, they happen to be smack in the middle of. Scott hadn't even known that the sheriff had his cell phone number.

 

Derek is still staring at him. Scott can almost feel the impatience radiating off of him.

 

The times when Derek seemed omnipresent and all-knowing to Scott are well and truly over, but for a second Scott feels catapulted back into that past where Derek had shown up every time Scott needed him and quite a few times when he didn't. He appreciates the man’s worry, especially because it’s still so hard for Derek to admit that he cares in the first place. Sometimes, though, it feels chafing, rough and it puts him on edge. He thinks it’s just alpha instinct that makes him look at Derek’s honest worry and think of it as condescension and it sparks a twinge of guilt in him usually, but today he just feels tired.

 

“How did you even know something happened?” Scott asks. The times when he didn't trust Derek are also over, but that doesn't mean he's comfortable talking about what might or might not be happening to Stiles. Not before he talks to Stiles himself, gets his own answers, made sure that he is as safe as he said he was.

 

Derek starts pacing the length of Scott's room, giving the distinct impression of a caged animal. “Stiles called me last night.”

 

Scott is not proud to say that his brain blanks for a moment before rebooting because what? Stiles had…? When? Why? Derek is still talking, though, so Scott forces himself to focus.

 

“He said he needed a favor. He hasn't talked to me in months and suddenly he needs a favor? At 5 in the morning?” The look he shoots Scott leaves no room for interpretation of exactly how unimpressed Derek is with this.

 

“So I went,” Derek continues, unhappy but resigned, as if that was always the foregone conclusion. That’s probably the case anyway. Stiles can be distressingly convincing when he wants something.

 

“I went and I found him in the hospital parking lot, covered in your blood and smelling like nothing. No pain, no fear, no anxiety. Nothing. No chemo signals. Remember when I told you he was being weird a few weeks ago? I thought you said he was doing better! Because if this is what better looks like then I don’t want to see what you think ‘bad’ is! He made me take him home and that's the last I saw of him. He didn't even talk to me, really. Wouldn't answer any of my questions. So I’ll ask you again; What the hell happened to you two last night? If I didn’t know any better I’d ask if he attacked you but, oh wait, I don’t!”

 

Derek ends the tirade with an accusing glare and now it’s Scott’s turn to get angry. The implication that he isn’t taking care of Stiles as he should is not appreciated and he has to suppress a growl because if Derek thinks that Scott isn’t taking care of his pack… _‘Well. It’s not like he can talk,’_ Scott thinks and feels a stab of guilt for that thought immediately after.

 

He takes a deep breath to calm himself and lets it out slowly. Then another. When he speaks again his voice comes out tight and sharper than he intends. “Stiles… Stiles didn’t hurt me. But I’ll admit, I’m not sure what is happening with him, either.” God, admitting that out loud hurts. “He was fine all day yesterday, maybe a bit absent at times, but… No, he was fine. Then something happened. He woke up coughing sometime after midnight and almost choked on… something. I don’t even know. Said some things about how he thought he could help Allison and Aiden and made me take him to the hospital. He was pretty insistent. That’s where we met Mrs Yukimura and she attacked him.”

 

“Wait, back up. She attacked him?” Derek snaps. “Why? I thought you were the one who got attacked.”

 

“I think she thinks he’s still possessed? I’m not sure. It all happened too fast, and not much of it made sense to me, but she was going after him with Kira’s sword and I had to protect him. I got hurt instead of him when I pushed him out of the way, and I blacked out. I’ve no idea what happened between then and when he called you, only that he called my mom before that so she’d find me.” The words come out quietly, because Scott doesn’t want to be saying them. He doesn’t even want to be thinking them, but while denial has gotten him into this situation, it’s not likely to get him out.

 

Derek stays quiet for a moment, as Scott starts to digest what he just told him. What does it mean that Stiles has no chemo signals? Scott hasn’t put as much effort into learning to recognise them yet as he might have if he’d been less stressed. It just hasn’t been a priority over everything else that’s been happening. On the other hand, it’s not like he can just choose not to smell things, so he should have noticed anyway. Noticing the absence of something that he hadn’t known existed until recently wasn’t that easy, though. Especially when he wasn’t even looking for it in the first place. Now that he knows though, all that it does is add to his worry and suspicion.

 

Shaking his head, Scott decides to deal with that _after_ they find Stiles.

 

“I thought if I gave him the space he wanted he'd come around eventually, you know? That he’d let me help. He’s always let me help. But all it's done is make both of us more distant. I screwed up, okay? And now this happened and Mrs Yukimura is out there thinking she has to kill Stiles to redeem herself or something and I’m just- I don’t know how to do this, Derek. I don’t know what to do.” He doesn't say how he fears he might be too late already. That fear is paralysing and it has buried itself deep under Scott's skin. It's the opposite of helpful, exactly what he shouldn't be thinking about, but he just can't shake it no matter what he does.

 

“So what _are_ you going to do? Don’t think about what you can or can’t do. What are you going to do next?” Derek stares at him, eyes intense, even more so than they normally are.

 

Good question. What is he going to do now? He can’t let Stiles slip away, not again. Whatever really happened last night, and Scott hates that he was _there_ and he _still doesn’t know_ , Stiles needs help. If Scott knows nothing else, he knows that. The weird emotionlessness that Derek talked about, whatever he had done to immobilize Scott back at the hospital, the things he said to antagonise Mrs Yukimura. Scott needs to know why, needs to know what the hell Stiles was thinking, wants to shake him until he comes to his senses and realize that Scott worries about him more than anything and that he _can’t keep doing this._ He can’t keep hiding. He can’t keep _leaving._ He can’t keep running away. Scott won’t let him. Not when he’s in danger like this and not any other time either.

 

And that’s that, isn’t it?

 

“I’m going over there. I’ll get Stiles to talk. Somehow. It’s been like pulling teeth lately, but if that’s what it takes…” He trails off, glancing down at his phone. “The sheriff called when I was sleeping, too. I’m worried. I want to call him back before I head over.” If something else happened to Stiles, Scott wants to know before he gets there. He's had too many unwelcome surprises lately to want to risk any more of them.

 

Derek nods once. “Good. Do that. I'm coming with you.”

 

Despite, or maybe because of, the fact that he should have seen that coming, Scott feels both relieved and anxious at the words. He's in way of his head here and if Derek is offering his help then Scott would be an idiot to refuse it. The irrational protectiveness he feels for Stiles wants to make him refuse anyway. He knows it’s irrational because Derek would sooner cut off an arm than hurt Stiles, but he has no idea what kind of situation they are facing here. He hasn’t told Derek everything, hasn’t told him about how Mrs Yukimura’s attack seemed a good bit less like an overreaction when sent in context. Hasn’t told him about his worst fear; that he should be mentally preparing himself to meet the Nogitsune rather than his friend.

 

He can’t help but feel that it would be safer for everyone if he went to meet Stiles on his own. Because he’s not sure that it’s Stiles he’s meeting.

 

Wearily, he nods at Derek, then looks back down at the phone in his hand when it starts ringing again.

 

“It’s the sheriff.” he says to aloud, before he picks up.

 

The conversation lasts less than thirty seconds, then the two of them are running down the stairs, heading to the Stilinski house.

 

**~*~**

 

“I thought you said you took him home?” This time Scott does nothing to try and keep the anger out of his voice. He should have known this would happen, feared it, but he’d thought that Stiles would have more sense than this. Derek isn’t the one at fault here, but he is the last person to see Stiles and that makes him a convenient outlet for Scott's rising frustration.

 

“I did.” Derek's hands are tight around the steering wheel of the car. So tight that the plastic is creaking in protest under the pressure. He has shifted from his normal grumpy expression to looking downright pissed and Scott is glad that he’s not the only one who is dissatisfied with the situation as a whole.

 

“Well, you heard his dad. He’s not there now. We’ve got to find him. I can’t believe he would do this.”

 

“Really? You can’t believe it? Because I can! This is exactly the type of stupidity I’d expect from him.” Derek seems almost personally offended, more so than even Scott is.

 

“He wouldn’t do this. Not without a reason. He’d never worry his dad like this if he thought there was another option.”

 

Derek only growls in reply and they spend the rest of the drive in tense silence. Once they arrive at Stiles’ house, they will try to pick up his scent there. It's their best bet to find him, but Scott is worried that they might be too late. It's been snowing all day now and the scent trail might be covered already.

If it is, Scott has a few ideas of where Stiles could have gone. Not far yet, not without his jeep that Scott still has the keys for. Suddenly it’s very obvious why Stiles felt the need to call Derek and Scott would feel guilty for that too, but he’d also been unconscious at the time so it wasn’t like he kept them on purpose. What Scott is more worried about is the cold. It’s below freezing, has been for weeks and the snow isn't helping. By now Beacon Hills is covered in a layer of crystalline fluff that swallows most sound and will make tracking any scent a pain, no matter how familiar Scott is with it.

 

He hopes that Stiles thought to put on something other than blood soaked pyjamas before he left. The situation feels distressingly familiar. Scott feels like he might be sick because if this is going to be his life he doesn't know how he'll survive past twenty without going insane.

 

Derek pulling up on the sidewalk ends that train of thought.

 

**~*~**

 

The sheriff meets them at the door. Scott gives him the same rundown of what happened during the night that he gave Derek, again leaving out his suspicions that Mrs Yukimura might have been justified in her actions. It’s unfair to her, he knows, but Scott cares less than he possibly should. She’s been advocating to kill his best friend, had tried to convince Scott to do it himself and, now that that plan failed, has taken things into her own hands. She does it because she's afraid, he knows that. Fear has made her irrational and Scott needs help to protect Stiles from her until they can either confirm or disprove her concerns.

 

When they enter the living room, Scott finds a note on the table that he doesn't remember being there the day before.

 

He picks it up, unfolds the paper in and reads.

 

_Dad_

 

_Something came up that I need to take care of._

_Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back soon._

 

_Love you,_

_Stiles_

 

“‘Don’t worry about me’ he says. As if that’s even an option anymore.” The sheriff says when he notices Scott reading. His voice sounds bitter and rough. Scott doesn’t blame him.

 

“His jeep is gone and I find a wad of bloody clothes under his bed. Where the hell did he go, Scott? What is going on here? Why is my son gone _again?!_ ”

 

Scott hears the desperation that mirrors, but he has no answer, so they fall into silence.

 

After a few minutes, Derek steps in. While the two of them were talking he called in reinforcements in the form of the Lydia, Malia, Isaac and Ethan.

 

While they wait for the others to arrive Scott's mind wanders.

 

He thought they were over this, this thing where Stiles vanishes and Scott follows. This time, it’s somehow both better and worse than the previous times. Better, because Stiles left of his own accord, told his father he was leaving and that he intended to return. Better, because Lydia said over the phone that she has heard nothing and so Stiles is at least not freezing to death somewhere, a fact that Scott is clinging to like a lifeline.

 

It’s worse, because _Stiles left of his own accord,_ and that means that he didn’t trust them to protect him. This time no one forced him to go and yet Stiles is still gone.

 

Scott feels like crying and screaming and punching things, but he bites back the urge and straightens up instead. He’s the alpha here and if they are going to find Stiles then his Pack needs him to be a leader.

 

“We will find him and we’ll bring him home.” he says, unsure who it is he's trying to comfort with the words. He says it with conviction anyway, because there is no other option. No other outcome is acceptable.

 

“He wasn’t hurt when I last saw him and the blood on his clothes is Scott’s.” Derek cuts in. “Who, as you can see, is fine now, but we need be going. It’s going to be hard enough to track Stiles through this snow as it is, and it only seems to be getting worse.”

 

They all turn to look at the window. Derek isn’t wrong. The gentle snowfall outside is slowly getting worse and, if they are truly unlucky, will shape up to be a full blown snowstorm and erase any chances they ever had of finding Stiles.

 

It doesn't take much longer for the others to arrive.

 

**~*~**

**Isaac**

 

This is not how Isaac had hoped to spend his Saturday. He had stayed the night with Allison’s father, forcing the man to go home and get some sleep. It wasn’t the first time in the past few months that he’d found himself doing this. Ever since Allison had been hospitalised, her father had only left her side when he was made to do it. Isaac had learned how to best get the man to listen to him, out of necessity.

 

Chris Argent could be stubborn as a mule. Getting him to leave his daughter, his last remaining family, while she is hurt… Well. Isaac does understand his reluctance. He himself would prefer not to leave her alone, but there is also nothing useful for him to do at the hospital. The most he can do is hold her hand and hope, and that doesn’t seem to have helped so far.

 

Nevertheless, that was what he was doing when Derek called and told him to meet Scott and the others at the Stilinski’s place. He’s probably not as surprised about it as Derek expects him to be, but yeah, he had seen this coming. He’s still not sure what even happened but he definitely owes Scott the biggest ‘I told you so’ in the history of ever.

 

So he grabs Ethan, who - like Argent - usually needs to be pried from his comatose family with a crowbar, and they head off. Well, he doesn’t actually grab him. The guy is kind of intimidating. Isaac has never been the most persuasive person either, but they do head of together in the end and that's all anyone needs to know.

 

They take Ethan’s bike, which is awkward to say the least. Isaac is glad when they arrive quickly and he can stop holding onto Ethan’s the leather jacket for dear life. He’s not exactly a safe driver.

 

The scowl on Derek’s face when he opens the door for them is telling already and once Malia arrives too a few minutes later they find out that Stiles is missing. Again. Ethan curses quietly. Malia does so loudly. Isaac still wishes he could say that he’s surprised.

 

He’s not. Stiles has been acting strange and there is a limit to the amount to leeway Isaac can give him, even if he had been possessed. He thinks Scott saw it too, just didn’t want it to be real.

 

Stiles is not himself, might be dangerous still, and now Kira’s mom, their resident expert on Nogitsune, seems to think the same and Stiles has vanished without telling anyone where he’s going or when he intends to get back. Everyone is varying degrees of tense, and the words ‘Something came up that I need to take care of’ on that note feel more and more sinister to Isaac the longer he’s thinking about them. What could Stiles possibly have to take care of that was so important?

 

“Here.” A shirt being shoved in his face interrupts Isaac’s train of thought. He glares at Derek who’s still holding the bloody piece of fabric but takes it and takes a deep breath. The scent of Scott’s blood on it almost drowns out Stiles’ and it invokes some sort of instinct in him that sets his teeth on edge. It’s there in the back of his brain saying _‘Alpha hurt! Danger!’_

 

Lydia arrives almost as soon as everyone is done sniffing (and no, that part of being a werewolf will never stop being weird). She strides through the door as if she owns the place and immediately goes to hug Scott. When she steps back she looks the group over with something approaching anxious approval.

 

“I haven’t heard anything from him. Supernaturally,” she clarifies for the only human present. She is speaking to all of them, but what she says feels mostly aimed at Scott and Stiles’ father. “So he can’t be dead. You go and try to find him. If his jeep is still at the hospital he must have left on foot. You should be able to track him this time. I will stay here and try to get something worth hearing here.”

 

He’s somehow glad that they are not leaving the sheriff on his own, and maybe that’s part of why Lydia is staying instead of searching with the rest of the pack. Isaac doesn’t know sheriff Stilinski that well, but right now the man looks like he’s aged ten years in the past ten hours.

 

Once outside, Scott looks at the four of them with an expression that is so painfully obvious it almost hurts to look at. Isaac gets that he’s worried. That he loves Stiles in a way that none of them really understand. The desperation that is painted all over his face makes Isaac hope that he’s wrong. That Stiles is just lost and they’ll find him and everything will be fine.

 

It doesn’t stop the creeping suspicion that it will be anything but that.

 

 

**~*~**

**Scott**

 

The scent leads them towards the Beacon Hills wildlife preserve, which does nothing to alleviate Scott’s worry. It wouldn’t be Stiles’ first night spend out in the woods, but being familiar with the land won’t have kept him from freezing to death.

 

“This is where he went?” Malia's confusion is mirrored on Isaac's face, while Derek just grits his teeth. Ethan stands a few feet apart and looks at the trees as if he intended to set them on fire with his eyes.

 

“Well, that's just great. How are we supposed to find him? If this storm gets any worse we won't be able to see the trees, let alone Stiles. I hate to say it, but if he's been in there all night we might be too late already.” Scott's head snaps around and the look he sends must have been withering enough because Ethan almost ducks his head in submission.

 

It's not that he's wrong. Scott knows how hypothermia works. But hearing it out loud isn't-

 

“He's not dead.” He's not because he can't be. Scott would know. Until something happens that proves otherwise, he won't believe it. “Lydia was convinced of that, at least. So if he's still alive and still out there we need to find him. Now are you going to help me or not?”

 

“He knows how to wake my brother, right? He knows how to get Aiden back?” Ethan turns from looking at the forest to looking at Scott, but his eyes are no less intense. More so, if Scott’s being honest.

 

“Yeah, that's what he said at least.” Scott confirms.

 

“Well then letting him die is not an option now, is it?” Ethan growls and starts heading into the trees. Isaac and Scott exchange a look before following while Malia huffs in annoyance.

 

“Yes, let your best tracker be the last one on the trail. Great idea. Move it.” shoving Ethan out of the way, she holds her face in the air and takes a deep breath. “That way.” and before anyone has the chance to protest, she's already running ahead.

 

They follow and spread out a little, trying to cover as much ground as possible while all still following the same trail. It doesn't take long for them to figure out why that was a bad idea. The snowfall is getting more and more dense by the minute. Soon enough, Ethan's earlier words come true and Scott has trouble finding his way. He has no idea where they are and getting back will be difficult.

 

Scott can barely follow the scent trail at this point and he only catches the occasional glimpse of the others, flashes of movement here and there between dark trees and dancing snowflakes. Sometimes he thinks he hears someone’s voice close by, but when he turns to look who it is he sees no one.

 

Everything around him is white. The snow covered trees look even darker by comparison and Scott feels oddly reminded of a black-and-white photograph. One of those old, overexposed scenery shots where everything is a little too bright and blurry.

 

He is almost blind like this and the others can’t be doing much better. He has to rely mostly on his hearing to navigate the woods, which he finds is close to impossible. The snow swallows too much of the noise.

 

The world is cold and quiet, and the snow is piling higher with each passing minute. Just walking is turning into a difficult task. Instead of giving up and turning around, Scott starts leaving deep scratch mark in the trees he passes, driving his claws into the bark every time he passes by one. He isn't sure how he'll find his way back at this point, so having some indication of where he's been should be useful for that at least. He can't afford to get any more lost than he already is.

 

He’s freezing and the only reason he can’t see his breath is that there is too much snow in the air to see much of anything. Everything is white, white, _white_. His eyes are stinging and leaking. Tears are freezing on his cheeks, but he presses on, keeps marking trees, keeps walking. He must find Stiles. He has to-

 

He has no idea which direction he’s going, but giving up is not an option. Flapping up the collar of his jacket and tugging it more tightly around himself, Scott takes a deep breath through the nose. The air smells crisp, clean and a bit like ozone; static electricity. Scott hopes there won't be a lightning storm on top of this one, even though he's not sure if that's even possible.

 

It's at that point that he notices that he hasn’t seen or heard the others in a while. Too long. “Derek? Isaac?” No answer. “Ethan? Malia?” Still nothing. Wherever they are, they can’t hear him. How did they get separated? Scott can't even remember when he'd seen the others last. It can't have been more than a few minutes, surely?

 

The next thing he tries is howling, but no one answers to that either, which makes absolutely no sense. A wolf can hear another howl from miles away, a little snow storm shouldn’t interfere with that. Something isn’t right here. Scott is starting to suspect that this storm is not entirely natural.

 

He looks around, and sees nothing but dark trees and white snow against a white sky. Once again he shouts for the others, and once again he receives no answer. Turning slowly he looks around in ever direction, but there is nothing to find.

 

No splash of color in all the white, no noise, no scent-

 

No scent.

 

He lost the scent trail.

 

“No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. No! Stiles!” but of course no one answers that call either. He feels as if he has swallowed glass, like his insides are being cut apart by the sharp edges of his hopelessness. Because it is hopeless. It might have been from the start but he just couldn’t give up. He still won’t.  

 

His throat closes as he turns once more. By now he can’t even tell which way he came from. There is no mark on any of the trees surrounding him. He has no idea how he will get back, but he _has to_. He has to find the trail again, find the others, find Stiles.

 

But he can't. He can’t even find the footprints that he _knows_ he must have left. But they aren’t there. The snow surrounding him lies thick and undisturbed. He might as well be a ghost for all the impression he left on his surroundings.

 

He sinks to his knees slowly. It’s really is hopeless. He should have turned around when it became clear that the storm wouldn’t let up, but instead he’d pushed on. Now he’s lost with no hope to find his way back and no hope to find what he was looking for. He can be no help to anyone this way, not his Pack, not Stiles and not himself either.

 

His face hurts from the cold and his eyes are stinging when he punches the snow and screams his frustration into the sky.

 

Something scurries past him and Scott looks up to find himself watching the fluffy orange-gray tail of a fox vanish between the trees. Scott stares after it, mind blank and unable to process. How could there be a fox out and about in this weather? Any animal with any sort of sense must be holed up in whatever burrow or den it lives in. But no, the fox, now watching him from the bushes, seems utterly unbothered by the storm surrounding it. It sneezes once, shaking it’s little gray head and then apparently loses interest in Scott and runs away, out of sight.

 

It didn’t leave any footprints either.

 

A thought creeps up on him even though it can’t be right. It’s ridiculous. But…

 

The missing prints, the marks he left on the trees that seem to have vanished; the fact that not one of his Pack could hear him, or if they could, that they couldn’t answer; the fact that this storm came practically out of nowhere as soon as they entered the preserve and has only gotten worse the closer they seemed to get to their goal.

 

_“Scott, it’s an illusion. It looks real and it feels real, but I swear to you it’s an illusion.”_

 

Stiles had said it, when they were confronting the Nogitsune in the school. Somehow he had seen through it when no one else had been able to. Scott has wondered what it was that had allowed him to do so, but he never got around to asking. It didn't seem important at the time. It seems far more important now.

 

Slowly he gets up again, brushing the snow from his knees. It does feel very convincingly real, but so had the Oni’s swords back then and those hadn’t been real either.

 

“This isn’t real,” he says quietly to himself, but the storm seems unimpressed by the words.

 

“This isn’t real,” he says again, louder this time, and with more conviction. He takes a step forward even though the snow is not letting up, trying to keep him away, make him turn around and leave, but Scott _won’t._

 

“This isn’t real and it’s not going to keep me from finding you, Stiles!” He is shouting now and if he’s wrong and this is an actual snow storm then he’s grateful that no one will see him making a fool of himself.

 

It’s not a second later that second the illusion shatters.

 

It's just as jarring as it was last time. The world shifts from one second to the next and suddenly the snow is gone.

 

Except for a fine dusting on the ground, all of it vanishes and finally Scott can see clearly again. The wind stops. The sky clears. All the sounds and the smells rush back at him and the air suddenly feels several degrees warmer.

 

He sighs in relief and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. They immediately snap open again because that is Stiles’ scent and it is way closer than he thought it would be. He whirls around, running now. It doesn’t take long before he stumbles through the line of trees onto a clearing and-

 

There he is, sitting on the stump of a large tree. Safe and whole and it’s such a relief that Scott forgets that he was angry with him for a second. He looks Stiles over from head to toe, checking for injuries and any sign of distress, but aside from the pained smile on his face he looks fine.

 

“You always were way too stubborn for your own good, weren’t you, Scotty?”

 

 

**~*~**

**Stiles**

 

 _‘Scott is alive!’_ is the first and only thought in Stiles’ brain. _‘He’s alive! It worked! He’s fine!’_

 

He’d known that, of course. He’d gotten the text from Scott, but it’s different, seeing him in person. He can feel Scott’s desperation, fear and tension, but he feels no pain from him. Physically, Scott is fine. He survived.

 

And now he’s here.

 

He should have expected this, probably. Of course Scott would be the one to break through his illusion. Of course. None of the others had been stubborn enough, though they had put up a valiant effort. In the end, one by one, they had turned around and left the woods, safe, sound and, most importantly, far out of the way. All but Scott. And Stiles had thought that he was being clever.

 

He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, then he makes a decision. “We should probably talk.”

 

The words seem to startle Scott out of his shock enough for him to unfreeze. He jumps forward and pulls Stiles up and into a hug that might have broken a few of his ribs, had he received it a week ago. Stiles doesn’t have the strength to try and push him away.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

His chest constricts painfully because even after years of knowing Scott sometimes he is still overwhelmed by how altogether _good_ he is. How can he still worry about Stiles when when knows… He must at least suspect by now, right? Stiles hasn’t exactly been subtle.

 

“I’m fine, Scott. Honestly. Not hurt or anything. You don’t need to-”

 

But Scott already has a hand on the side of Stiles neck. “You’re in pain.” Stiles lets out a sigh as Scott starts taking it away in the same instance. It has been there since his he pulled the magic out of Scott’s wound and into himself. He sighs in relief, but forces himself to pull away. He hadn’t taken this from Scott just so that he could take it back not even a day later.

 

Once again, Scott cares too much for others, and not nearly enough for himself.

 

That is unacceptable. Every instinct, human and not, tells him to grab this boy and shake him until he stops sacrificing his health for those who don't deserve it.

 

Scott is _his_. Not his alpha because that’s no longer possible, but Stiles belongs with him all the same. They are a matched set, have been since they were four years old and they’ve only grown closer in that time.

 

_“Look mom! This is Scotty, my best friend!”_

 

_“Scott, you’re my brother.”_

 

_“Scott, I love you.”_

 

Scott is one of the most important people in Stiles’ life. He’s central. He’s essentially important and he doesn’t get to hurt himself, least of all for Stiles.

 

“Scott, stop it. It’s fine, please.” Scott lets him go reluctantly and Stiles gestures for him to sit down on the stump that had served Stiles as a seat for the past few hours already. It's not the Nemeton though he had been tempted to wait there. The tree evokes too many conflicting emotions still. It feels like death and like home, like power and a prison at the same time. It would be a distraction rather than a home field advantage and he can’t have that when Noshiko gets here.

 

Scott stares for a second, then sits down next to him. “What happened, Stiles? Why did you leave?” he asks, not unkindly, but there's that tone. Stiles knows that tone. Worry, both for Stiles and for what Stiles might do unless he's stopped. He’s heard it often enough. It used to be so harmless, Scott worrying that Stiles was taking one of his schemes too far. But this isn’t a scheme, or, if it is, it isn’t one of Stiles’. He still can't bring himself to look at Scott’s expression. There would be suspicion there by now, surely. Scott must realise the implications of all this. He saw through the illusion and realised that Stiles had cast it. He heard him talk to Noshiko, before.

 

So instead of looking at Scott, Stiles stares out into the trees. He’d been trying to draw Noshiko here, with his larger than life display of magic. That had backfired. She still hasn’t shown herself. If she does show up now, when Scott is here, and if Scott gets hurt again Stiles might go truly berserk this time. God, his life is crazy. He can taste the tension in the air. It's bitter and tangy, but he forces himself to swallow around it.

 

No matter what he might be now, no matter how he's changed, the thought that he and Scott might not trust each other is almost worse than everything else that's happened in the last few weeks. Hell, the last few _years._ When he looks up Scott is watching him with that half apologetic, half weary look he's been wearing for weeks now and it's too much. He can't deal with this right now. He looks away again.

 

“What happened… You have a right to know. I think there might be a thing or two I should show you as well, but I'm not sure about that yet. Kinda depends on how this talking thing goes, you know?” It's not exactly a lie but it's also very much not the truth. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to show Scott anything. But he knows the longer he keeps this secret the more it will feel like a betrayal when the truth inevitably comes out. Scott needs to know. Now. If only Stiles can find the words.

 

“We haven't really talked since the Nogitsune. Not about what happened to me, not really. Not much about how you’ve been handling all this either and I’m sorry for that. Yesterday was… it was - good. It helped, but we aren't okay. You're not okay and I'm not sure if I even can be anything close to okay again. I know I haven’t exactly made it easy for you to talk to me. Which was… probably a bad idea, retrospectively. I know you've been worried. That you’ve been watching me. That you've had Derek watch me, Isaac too, and that’s - That's good, too. I'm glad, okay? You're finally learning not to blindly trust everyone and that's… good. I just wish you hadn't had to learn it from me.”

 

“Stiles, no that's not… “ Scott sounds a bit choked, but Stiles really doesn't want to listen to any excuses right now. So he cuts him off and barges on.

 

“I wish you weren't right. Scott, you really shouldn't trust me anymore.”

 

And there it is. He's said it. Now the words are lying between them like something physical and disgusting, stinking up the place with the smell of two months of secrets, impossible to ignore. Next to him Scott freezes in place, suddenly rigid and tense.

 

“I'm gonna need you to explain that. Why do you think I shouldn't trust you? What does that have to do with what happened? With Mrs Yukimura? And with-” he trails off looking at the woods around them. “Stiles, please just tell me what's going on.”

 

Scott's eyes are wide open and pleading. There is a bit of panic in them still. Stiles can taste it in the air. Muted and suppressed under all the worry and guilt, but it's there. Why guilt? There is nothing Scott could have done differently. But then, isn't it just like Scott, to blame himself for things he couldn't change? Decisions that weren't his to make?

 

Stiles takes a moment to figure out how best to answer. He doesn't want to keep anything from Scott but he came here to lessen Scott's pain, not increase it.

 

Stiles can still hardly bring himself to look at him but talking to trees is not a productive way to handle this conversation. Not if he wants Scott to trust him and he does want Scott's trust more than he wants anything else. Even if his heartbeat doesn't mirror his lies anymore, he can try and let Scott read the truth on his face. So he stops trying to pretend to be something that he isn’t anymore, lifts his head and looks Scott in the eyes.

 

Scott almost jerks away when Stiles turns back to him and that hurts. Does he actually look that different? Stiles can only guess what Scott is reading from his face. Can he see the guilt, the desperation? The _hunger_ that is consuming him?

 

“I remember everything the Fox did, Scott. Every move it made, every time it blinked, every twitch of my fingers that I didn't twitch. Everything, like I did it myself. And not just what it did while It was me. Everything. I remember Noshiko in the internment camp. I remember… Scott you really don't want to know the things I remember doing.”

 

“Nothing that thing did was your fault, Stiles. That wasn't you.” Stiles almost wants to pity him for being this naive, but it’s not naivety that lets Scott believe in people as much as he does. Stiles doesn’t know what it is, still hasn’t been able to figure that out, but it’s not that Scott hasn’t realised that evil exists in the world. He’s given up on ever finding the answer to that question and instead dedicates his life to protecting Scott when he is giving out one too many second chances again. Even if he himself is the one Scott needs to be protected from.

 

“Let's not get into that now. It's not what I was getting at. The Fox… You didn’t just exorcise it, Scott. You killed it.” Scott’s eyes widen first in confusion and then with hope and Stiles hates to be the bearer of bad news, but he goes on anyway. “Yeah you’d think that would be a good thing, right? Whatever. You’re a True Alpha and in some circumstances, that matters a great deal more than anyone has told you. You’re too pure. Literally. You are in many ways the antithesis to everything the Fox was. Your bite poisoned It down to Its core. It fled It’s copied body and curled up to die in the only place It could go. The fly you caught was just a decoy.”

 

Stiles can see the slow realisation creeps up on Scott. “The only place it could go?”  
  
“It had a connection to me. An open gateway, so to speak. So It used that opening, hid in my mind and drained my energy until It was strong enough to start influencing me. That was a few weeks ago. It appeared in my dreams and I would have told you about that, but I couldn’t remember them when I was awake. Not until yesterday. Not until it was over. I guess, now that I think about it, that might have been the point; forcing me to do this alone. It wanted to finish what we started.”

 

“Do what alone, Stiles? What do you mean, ‘finish what you started’?”

 

“What Lydia and you interrupted. I’m sure you remember your trip to my subconscious? It was a battle of wills, that game of Go. But you interrupted when you arrived, you and Lydia. Broke both of our concentration. Back then the Fox was using it to keep me occupied, keep me from fighting and taking my own body back and well, you know what happened. But after… the second game we played was more than that. We were playing for power over the other. It wanted control of me, my mind, my body, everything. I wanted It to - you know. Not have that. Turns out I’m the better strategist. Or maybe I just had more patience, since I wasn’t actively dying? I won, in any case. So that thing I spat out back there? That almost choked me to death on the way out? That was the actual Nogitsune. Hoshi no Tama. The manifestation of Its soul, as much as It ever had one.”

 

Scott jumps up, horror in his eyes. “Wait you mean- _That thing_ was…?!”

 

Stiles can understand the disgust easily. He’s no more a fan of the implications than Scott is.

 

“Yeah, it is. Or, well. Yes, it was. It’s very much dead now. Almost took me with it too, so thanks for not letting me suffocate on the bastard, in case I forgot to say that earlier? I mean I could have appreciated the irony, but I much prefer this breathing thing I get to keep doing now.”

 

He surprises himself with how angry he is, suddenly. He hates his predecessor fiercely for everything it did to the people he loves, but this time he’s angry for himself. Angry to be forced into this role that he never wanted, but now can never back out of. There is fire under his skin and it sings to him a song of wrath and vengeance. Only there is nothing to extract vengeance from. He already won. He already lost.

 

“This isn’t a joke, Stiles!” which is kind of an ironic thing for Scott to be saying, sounding as hysterical as he does.

 

“What, you think I think this is funny?!” Stiles hisses. “I know it’s not! I just-” He shakes his head, rubs his hands through his hair, then goes on. “I just really wish this never happened.”

 

“But it’s over, now, isn’t it? Stiles?” Scott asks, and, oh, he sounds so hopeful. Stiles wants to cry. He wants to lie. Wants to tell Scott that, yes, it’s over. He doesn’t have to worry about a thing anymore. Never again. That he’s fine and human and still the same boy Scott has always known. He’d find some excuse for the things Scott has already seen and Scott would believe him because he’d want to.

 

Stiles has always been a terrible liar when it comes to lying to people he loves.

 

“No, Scott. I don’t think it will ever be over. Not for me. The Fox is gone. I'm me. I'm Stiles Stilinski and no one else, but… Scott. I'm not human. Not anymore.”

 

Scott freezes. “What?”

 

“I’m not- I…” he trails off, lets out a humorless laugh. “This is way harder than I thought it would be, and I didn’t even think it would be easy.”

 

His hands are trembling and it’s getting harder to force air into his lungs because his breath is suddenly shaky and he can’t say the words, but he has to. He _needs_ them out there and he needs Scott to _know._ He can’t stand the limbo of not knowing what Scott is thinking. He’s always known what Scott was thinking but he doesn’t now. He can feel every minutiae of Scott’s emotions but that’s not helping any because _Scott doesn’t know yet._ Scott doesn’t know that his best friend died and came back different. _Wrong._

 

Stiles isn’t the sixteen year old, traumatized boy that went to sleep in the same bed as Scott just a day ago. He has instincts and memories and powers cultivated by a monster for a thousand years and he’s terrified of what he’s capable of. Scott puts a hand on his back and it takes all the self control Stiles doesn’t have not to flinch away.

 

“Stiles, it’s okay. Whatever it is, we can deal with it. Stiles, come on. You know I’ll help you if you just let me. Please just tell me what’s going on.” Scott is so sincere that it hurts. Stiles doesn’t doubt that he means every word he says. He only doubts that Scott will still feel the same after what Stiles has to say.

 

“Promise me something first.” He can’t raise his voice above a whisper but of course Scott hears him anyway.

 

“Anything,” he says immediately and Stiles wants to slap him while being grateful at the same time. Hadn’t they just talked about the importance of not blindly giving trust? 

 

“Promise me you won’t say just because it’s me. That, if there is nothing to be done, you will give up, and let me deal with it.”

 

Scott looks at him as if Stiles had just stabbed him and the fact that Stiles knows what that expression looks like on Scotts face just reminds him of everything he has done when he was more (less? both?) than himself.

 

“No,” breathes Scott, shaking his head. “No, anything but that, Stiles. You can’t ask me not to help you. You know I could never keep that promise. Even if there is nothing to be done, I’ll be with you to the end, that I promise you. You are not going to get rid of me this time.”

 

The last thing Stiles wants it to be the reason for why Scott gets hurt, but at this point Stiles sees no way around it. He isn’t stupid enough to think that he wouldn’t be hurting Scott by pushing him away. Telling him the truth will not hurt him any less, but at least that’s being honest, isn’t it?

 

When Stiles opens his mouth next it all tumbles out at the same time. “You’re afraid. I can’t tell if you’re afraid _for me_ or _of me_ or if it’s both, but you’re terrified. You’re half a step away from panicking and you feel guilty, probably for not noticing what was happening to me? That’s stupid by the way. _I_ didn’t even know what was happening to me. I should have told you earlier that something felt off, but I didn’t even realize it myself until it was over. You’re angry too. At yourself and at me, even if you’re trying not to show it. You’re worried and anxious and a bit hopeful on top of it all and to be honest the feeling of your trust is actually, physically painful so if you could-”

 

“Stiles, what- ?” Scott is staring at him bewildered. Stiles gets up and starts pacing.

 

Maybe he should start at the beginning. “You know, what I said about that second game I played? The one I won? Remember that I said we were playing for power?”

 

“That’s not exactly what you said.”

 

“Yeah, well. If I had lost, the Fox would have taken control of me again and It would have caused as much destruction as It possibly could before dying. But that’s not what happened. What happened is that I won and in games like that you can’t go home without a prize.”

 

Scott just stares at him, uncomprehending while Stiles presses the words out as fast as he can before his courage leaves him.

 

“It made sure that no matter the outcome It would get what It wanted.” This is it, then. “It gave me Its essence. Its power, everything that made it what it was. Instincts, impulses, skills. Its memories, Scott. A thousand years of memories. Do you have any idea of the things I have in my head now? I know over a dozen different ways to disembowel a man with my bare hands. I remember the feeling of someone’s guts beneath my fingertips. I remember enjoying it, and even if that wasn't really me, that's not even the worst part.” He stops pacing, and this time he's forcing himself to look at Scott. Forcing himself to see the fear that's written on his face. To look him in the eye when he says.

 

“The old Fox is dead, Scott. It's dead and gone and not coming back, but there is still a Nogitsune. It made sure there would be. Me.”

 

He concentrates and makes his eyes glow silver.

 

Slowly, Scott gets up. He takes the few cautious steps in Stiles’ direction. Stiles still has to actively keep himself from stumbling backwards. He’d told himself he’d be fine with any reaction Scott could have, but now that the time has come, he’s terrified. He’s dangerous and he could never forgive himself if he hurt Scott. If Scott sends him away, Stiles will go.

 

But, selfish as it might be, the thought of not being with Scott makes him feel sick. He lowers his head and waits for the axe to fall.

 

There’s a hand on his cheek suddenly tilting his head back up and Stiles follows it without protest. Scott is looking at him with curiosity and something like determination in his eyes.

 

“Stiles, you’re wrong.” Scott’s voice is shaking but there is steel in it, too. “I kept an eye on you after what happened, yes. When Derek offered to check on you and I let him, sure. But it wasn’t because I didn’t trust you. I did it because I was worried about you. How do you not-? _How_ do you not know that? Stiles!”

 

Stiles tries to turn away, but Scott’s hands are still holding his face and anyway, Scott doesn’t seem to be expecting an answer since he just barrels on.

 

“Do you know why I love you, why I admire you so much, Stiles Mieczyslaw Stilinski? Do you have any idea?”

 

“Is it because of my charming wit and incredibly good looks?” Stiles tries to joke but it comes out flat and Scott ignores him.

 

“It’s because you are the best person I know. You try so hard, Stiles. You try every fucking day and you never stop. I know you. I know how hard it is for you sometimes, to be a good person, but you make the right choices anyway.  You mess up sometimes and you get angry, but you always try. Even if it's painful, if it's not what you really want. I- People think that I am the good one out of the two of us, but it’s _you_ . It’s always been you. You’re what inspires me. If I didn’t know you I- I know you think I trust too easily. That I have too much faith in people, but how can I not when I know _you._ I have seen you at your best and I know the worst of you and I know without any doubt who you truly are. You shine, Stiles. Trying any less than you do, and still standing by your side would be an insult to you.”

 

For once in his life, Stiles Stilinski is speechless. He doesn’t know how he deserves Scott McCall. He must have been some sort of messiah in a past life to be allowed to have Scott’s love in this one. There are tears on his cheeks, dripping down his chin, but he doesn’t care, just blinks them out of his eyes faster. He’ll be damned if he misses a single second, a single fleeting expression on Scott’s face. Scott’s eyes are soft and warm and this is something he never thought he could have but it’s everything he has ever wanted.

 

“Nothing about that has changed. What you are will never change how I feel about you, Stiles. I love you. I trust you. And I always will.”

 

It’s too much. His heart is swelling and throat is closing up and Stiles is feeling too many things at once to be able to name them all. First and foremost there is relief. Second is an absolute, overwhelming feeling love and adoration.

 

"Scott..." he says and doesn't care that he sounds utterly helpless. There is nothing to be done about that and so instead he does the only thing that could possibly convey all of his emotions.

 

He grabs Scott by the hair, pulls him forward and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noshiko was supposed to be in this chapter but it got too long. Instead we're dealing with her next time. Does anyone still believe me when I say that I am not trying to bash her and that I actually like her character on the show?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are kisses, curses and realizations. Not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by the droning voice of my friend’s macroeconomics professor, whose class I spend two hours in every week because he motivates me to be very productive in everything that is not listening to him. 
> 
> Also Kira is badass and I love her, please excuse my not writing her enough before now. 
> 
> And as always my thanks go to everyone who reads this generally, everyone who comments/kudos especially, and my amazing beta [Satan](https://satandidnothingwrong.tumblr.com) specifically. All of you guys are amazing. How the hell did this thing ever reach 100 kudos? I have no idea. But thank you.

**~*~**

**Scott**

  
  


It's not a very elegant kiss. There is too much pressure and their noses bump into each other painfully, prompting Stiles to pull back and to laugh a breathless laugh before trying again. This time Scott is more prepared and tilts his head to meet him in the middle. It’s softer, more careful, when they are doing it that way. Their lips slide together and Scott had forgotten how gently Stiles could be when properly motivated. 

 

Being reminded like this, Scott thinks, is among the best things he has ever felt in his life. 

 

The grip Stiles has on his hair is tight to the point of being painful, clinging like Stiles is afraid Scott would disappear. His lips are dry and cold, but incredibly soft and oh so very careful. They taste of mint and a bit like ash and Scott never wants this moment to end.

 

His hands are still on Stiles’ face, no longer holding him in place, just lightly resting there, thumbs slowly tracing over Stiles’ cheekbones, wiping away the tears Scott can’t really explain.

 

His own eyes are trying to fall shut with the emotion of it all but he forces them wide open, so that doesn't miss anything, because the look in Stiles’ eyes tells of love and desire and a disbelieving, desperate hope. It's so fragile and beautiful that Scott never wants to look away. Rarely has he seen Stiles this open and vulnerable and it makes Scott's chest swell with love. He hadn't known that he could feel any more protective of his friend - boyfriend? - than he already had been, but now he knows better. And they are boyfriends now, aren’t they? Stiles hasn’t said a word yet, but his answer to Scott’s confession is still clear.

 

Now that he's allowed to, there are so many things that Scott wants to do, and he wants all of them at once. He wants to kiss Stiles and kiss him again and keep kissing him forever. He wants to step back, out of the circle of Stiles’ arms, strip him bare, and count each one of his moles, trace the lines of his body and then do it over again until he has every nook and crevice of Stiles memorised irreversibly, even more so than he does already. He wants to lay his hands on every part of him, wrap himself around him and hold him close, until Stiles is warm and the sickly gray fades from his skin. Until he is himself and whole and healthy again, even if he isn’t human.

 

He wants Stiles’ teeth buried in his skin, wants for all the things he knows Stiles tries so hard to hide from everyone, even himself. He knows Stiles can be dangerous and violent and he craves the sharpness of Stiles’ focus and all the things he could do to Scott if he wished. Scott would let him and ask for more. He wants anything that Stiles is willing to give and everything at once, and he doesn't know where to start or how to start asking. 

 

Stiles takes the decision out of his hands with a careful swipe of his tongue. This time, there is nothing Scott can do to help it, and his eyes fall shut. He shudders and swallows a gasp at the sudden feeling of wetness against his lips. 

 

Oh, okay. Yeah. This is good. Stiles always did have the best and the worst ideas. This one might very well be both at once. Scott might crave Stiles’ cruelty, but he is undone by his kindness. 

 

Now that is seems Stiles has realised that Scott is not going to leave - _ and he wouldn’t, why would he, this is everything he had ever wanted -  _ the grip on his hair loosens and Stiles starts slowly running his hand along Scott's neck, down his back and stops to let it rest on Scott’s hip. He brings the other up as well and uses both hands to pull Scott even closer. 

 

He goes willingly, fitting himself against Stiles’ chest. With his eyes closed everything feels more intense and he’s grateful for Stiles’ hands holding him, because he's starting to feel lightheaded and it takes him until Stiles pulls back a little to realise that, yeah, breathing is a thing he should be doing, maybe. 

 

While he sucks some much needed air into his lungs, Stiles starts raining light, closed mouth kisses over his cheeks and nose. Scott hands fall away from Stiles’ face and he starts giggling because Stiles’ lips on his skin are tickling. Scott hadn't known that is  _ face  _ is ticklish and of course he’s already learning new things about himself not a minute after finally admitting the only secret he has ever tried to keep from Stiles. 

 

The whole thing really is surprisingly gentle. Scott had thought that, in the unlikely case that Stiles would ever return his feelings, they would mark the event with wild, mind-blowingly hot make out sessions, until their lips would be too swollen to kiss one more time without it hurting. Stiles is always a whirlwind of action, sweeping Scott up and leaving him only wanting more. 

 

Instead, however, Stiles’ kisses are slow and careful and so overwhelmingly sweet that the thought of pulling away hurts. 

 

“You”  _ kiss _ “are”  _ kiss  _ “the single”  _ kiss  _ “most ridiculously good person”  _ kiss _ “I have”  _ kiss _ “ever”  _ kiss _ “met”  _ kiss _ “Scott McCall.” He says it in between brushes of lips that fall on Scott's cheeks, his brows, forehead, eyelids, the bridge of his nose and anywhere else Stiles can reach without having to duck his head too much. 

 

Scott can only giggle louder, but then Stiles pulls back again to look him straight in the eyes. It is a look still so open and filled with love that it punches the air out of Scott's lungs. 

 

“Stiles-” but Stiles shakes his head, places a finger against Scott's lips to shush him and he falls silent in favor of listening. Stiles eyes are dark, severe - serious like Stiles almost never is and so Scott knows to listen and not to interrupt. 

 

“I love you, too.” he begins, pronouncing each word clearly and carefully, as if to make sure Scott believes it this time. Because he has said it before, hasn't he? Said it casually, like it doesn't matter or maybe like it's a fact of live that shouldn't need to be voiced. The sky is blue. Water is wet. Scott and Stiles love each other.

 

“I mean it, Scott. I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve you, but since this is what you want, since we both want this, I need you to listen, alright? I love you. I love you fiercely and wholly and completely. I love everything you are and everything you stand for. I love you. Do you hear me?”

 

There are tears still on Stiles’ cheeks still and Scott reaches out again to wipe away the last of them. He’s too happy for words for a moment and so lifts his arms up again, wraps them around Stiles’ shoulders and pulls him in, as close as possible. He wants to share the same air, the same space as Stiles, wants to press himself into his chest until a part of him can seep through Stiles’ skin and curl up in his heart, stay there forever. “I hear you. I hear you. Thank you. God, I’m so happy we’re here.”

 

He buries his nose in Stiles’ hair and closes his eyes, breathes in Stiles emotionless scent. That’s gonna take some getting used to, but Scott has years of practice in reading Stiles’ feelings on his face, in the set of his shoulders, or the movement of his eyes. He has known Stiles since before werewolves where ever real to either of them and Stiles’ body language is something that Scott doesn't think he could unlearn even if he tried. He doesn't need physical proof of what he already knows Stiles is feeling. Stiles’ heartbeat is steady like a metronome and his scent is calm, but his pupils are widened, his hands are twitching, opening and closing on Scott’s hips. His lips are quirked into that small, secret smile that no one but Scott and Stiles’ dad ever get to see. 

 

They stand like that for a few long minutes, wrapped in each other and oblivious to anything around them, or at least that’s what Scott feels. He doesn’t think he would notice it if the forest caught fire around them.

 

But then Stiles tenses and pulls away. 

 

“Hey, Scott. Did I tell you what the snowstorm was for?” he asks, not looking at Scott, but instead staring into the trees. Scott blinks at the non sequitur and turns to look in the same direction, but can make out nothing but frost and foliage. Nothing that would explain Stiles’ sudden nervousness. 

 

“No, you didn’t. I just assumed it was to keep people from finding you?” Scott still doesn’t know how he feels about that. There is anger there and disappointment, a bit of confusion, too. For someone who had put an entire town through an illusionary snowstorm just for people to stay away from him, Stiles had been uncommonly quick to accept Scott finding him. “And at some point we’re going to have to talk about your recent tendency to cut everyone off all the time.”

 

Stiles looks at him with surprise, then nods, slightly sheepish. “Yeah, I guess we will. But that’s not exactly why I did this. The storm wasn’t meant for you, or the pack. I wasn’t even sure you’d be well enough to get up before this would be over. Keeping you out of it was part of it, but that’s not its primary function.”

 

And that is how Scott slides right past confusion and slips into being full on discombobulated. 

 

“Then what was it about? Wait. Is? Present tense?”

 

Stiles looks at him briefly then turns back towards the tree line. “Yeah. Just because you can see through it now doesn’t mean that I took down the illusion. To everyone else it’s still snowing like there’s no tomorrow. Look, I wanted to end this without anyone else present. The last time she confronted me, you almost died. I wanted to pick the place this time, to be more prepared. But now you’re here anyway and I don’t think asking you to stay out of it will do much, will it?” There's something like exasperation in Stiles voice, but Scott isn't fooled. Stiles isn't annoyed. He's afraid.

 

“Stiles, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” he says, imploring. “But if you think I'm going to leave you  _ now _ you’ve got another thing coming. 

 

“I was calling her” he says, turning away from Scott fully and ignoring what he said as if he hadn’t even heard it. He looks around, tilting his head and listening to the rustle of the leaves. Scott gives up on getting any answers out of Stiles and cocks his ears, hoping to find out what has him so tense. He hears it almost immediately. Soft footfalls on the frozen ground, getting steadily closer.

 

Stiles taking a few steps towards the edge of clearing effectively puts Scott behind him, but he won’t have any of it and steps around, putting himself at Stiles’ side.

 

Not even a minute later, Kira’s mother steps out of the trees.

 

**~*~**

**Noshiko**

  
  


It takes her longer than she would like to admit to notice the call, the blanket of thick illusion magic that is cloaking the entire town, pulsing like a second beacon from the Beacon Hills wildlife preserve. It can be nothing else, but her senses have become greatly dulled since she gave up her tails and lost the Oni. At the height of her power, it would have been a screaming siren to her. Now, it’s but a distant whisper. The day before she had felt a pulse of dark energy, the same that had called her back to this town after years of wanting to stay as far away as possible. The tell-tale sign of a Nogitsune stepping into the world that only other Foxes could sense. 

 

All of her powers are weaker now, but she would never be too weak to sense that. She had raced to the hospital, where the last victims of the demon still lay and had waited for It there and It had appeared, once again wearing Stilinski’s skin. 

 

There is a cast on her wrist and finger shaped bruises around her neck because her healing is now almost as slow as a human’s and it took most of her remaining power to keep the corridor empty when she confronted Stilinski in the hospital. 

 

Only, of course that had not been Stilinski. Noshiko does not know how the demon did it. How It managed to fool them all so completely, managed to make even her think that It was gone. She does not know why It had not shown Itself until now, what plans It may have made, what It had to gain from laying low for so long. Had It been recuperating, regaining strength? Had It needed to, or was there something more sinister behind it? What had It been planning in the months she thought it gone?

 

She is aware that she knows frustratingly little about Nogitsune, the Void Foxes. She knows more than anyone else she is aware of, as she has actually seen one before  _ (summoned It, fought It, sealed It - if temporarily) _ but they are a rare breed of her kind. They are other, unusual and even to her they are shrouded in mystery. 

 

It is assumed that Nogitsune have no motives beyond satisfying their own insatiable hunger. The Void cannot be reasoned with, cannot be controlled, will only rarely agree to a bargain, and even then will try to trick you. She has suffered for her own naivete in that regard, had been stupid enough to think that she could control the uncontrollable, that she could contain a being made of pure chaos and make it work to her advantage. It was by far the darkest day of her long life.

 

Now she is stalking through the woods, almost powerless with a weapon that is no longer hers and heading into what is obviously a trap, but cannot be ignored either. What choice does she have? It was her who called upon this evil and so it is her responsibility to banish it as well. She has failed twice already, with better odds, but she cannot allow herself to fail a third time. 

 

Knowing that it is an illusion lets her see through the storm to the reality underneath and feeling for the center - the origin of the magic - is easy enough when the one broadcasting is specifically calling out to her. Finding the clearing where the demon is waiting doesn’t take her long. 

 

What she finds there is not what she expects though. 

 

She had expected the Stilinski boy, of course. The host, if there is anything left of him, looks pale like death. Through his deceptively human eyes, the demon is watching her, wearing an expression that under other circumstances she might have called apprehensive. It was a near perfect disguise, but she will not be fooled.

 

What she did not expect is McCall, yet there he is, standing at Stilinski's shoulder like she had not cut him down less than a day ago. That should be impossible. It is true that her sword is no longer hers and therefore harder to work magic with. It is also true that she has frustratingly little power left and even attempting to cast a curse had been an unsure gamble, but she knows what she inadvertently did to the boy. He should be dead or dying right now. As she had not been sure what she would find in the hospital or even if she would find anything at all, the curse she had cast on the blade had been a precaution only; weak as her own magic was weakened, but it should have still been deadly. 

 

She regrets it, of course, and is relieved to see him alive and well, but his foolishness was no fault of hers, nor is it her main concern. Noshiko had not been aiming for him and had he done as he ought, protecting his territory by removing the threat instead of leaving it to her and even trying to hinder her efforts, then he would have been fine. He jumped in between her and the demon, and she had nearly cut his spine in half, wrote a curse into the wrong blood, and then lost her opponent because of it. 

 

Yet here he is, looking angry and protective, ready to show his claws and defend the evil that stands between them, threatening her with a low growl.

 

_ ‘It has truly chosen Its host well,‘ _ she thinks.  _ ‘If It can get the alpha to protect It this fiercely.’ _

 

McCall’s claws are sharp and his teeth deadly but if she can prove that what stands besides him is not Stilinski anymore, she might gain an ally in this fight. Might gain a better chance.

 

Or maybe not. He had refused to kill his friend before, convinced he could somehow be saved, as if the life of one boy was more important the the lives the demon would take if left to fester in him. No, she cannot rely on the wolf.

 

Left is not her dominant hand but that will not matter. All she needs is one cut deep enough for a curse to take root and the body will die soon enough. All she has to do then, is to seal the Void again before It can choose a new host. It is a gamble and the window of time she can expect to have will be small, but there is no other path left for her to take. She would prefer not to have to resort to such tainted magic, but with her powers as reduced as they are, there is nothing else in her arsenal that has any chance against a Nogitsune. 

 

She regrets what she must do to Stilinski, if there is any of him left at all. Regrets, too, what she has already done to McCall, but one life does not outweigh the lives of everyone else in this town, this state, this entire country. It does not outweigh the lives of her husband and her daughter. 

 

“You know why I have come here.” she says at last, forcing herself to appear more calm than she feels. 

 

The line prompts an eye roll from the demon and a hardening expression from McCall. “Because I called you, obviously. I’d hoped we could settle this between just the two of us. We’re alone here.” The words sound sincere, but she is not fool enough to trust It.

 

“Why is he here, then?” she nods at McCall watching him closely for his reaction at her next words. “Do you think he will protect you even knowing what you are, demon?” McCall does react to that, but not in the way that Noshiko expected. His eyes flash red and he takes a step forward, moving to stand in front of the being that would just as easily kill him as soon as he outlived his usefulness.

 

“He’s not who you think he is!” McCall’s shouts, but oh what does he know? He believes what he wants to believe and only sees the parts he wants to see. A werewolf and a teenager at the same time, no wonder the other Fox had such an easy time manipulating him. It makes profit out of opportunity with McCall, like the scavenger It is, proven by the fact that it fed on McCall’s pain as soon as the chance presented itself in the hospital.

 

“I think you will find that he’s exactly  _ what  _ I think he is.” The words come out as a hiss through clenched teeth. How can he not see? How can he stand there and defend the thing that took his best friend from him. When It had taken Rhys, Noshiko had wanted nothing more than revenge, but McCall seems to want to cling to futile hopes and broken dreams and lies. 

 

The demon throws Its head back and laughs the laugh of the deranged. It lasts only for a few seconds and when It looks at her next Its eyes have taken on that empty white-gray glow again that chills her so.

“You know, the funny thing is that you’re  _ both  _ right.” It spits the words like a viper spits its venom, but she will not let herself be confused. “You ask if Scott is here to protect me? I don’t know. Does he need to? Are you here to try and kill me again? Is that what you stole your daughter’s blade for?” She almost flinches at the accusation, but steels her resolve.

 

A Kitsune’s katana is a part of them and for another to take it a grave offence and insult. Kira has reformed this blade and made it hers irrevocably. At the time, Noshiko had given it willingly, given her power to her daughter so that she would be able to fight, but she has proven unwilling - too young - to do what is needed. So Noshiko took the blade again and damn the consequences. Kira does not yet know the significance, past an instinctive dislike to being parted from the sword.

 

She will know soon enough. She will learn all that Noshiko has to teach once this is over. Hopefully. It is for her daughter, that she is doing this, but it has cost her much already and might cost her more still. If she cannot win, if she dies tonight, all she can hope is that Ken and Kira will escape before the Void comes for them too. 

 

“I will not let you prey on these people any longer. It ends today.” It will. One way or another, it will.

 

She unsheathes the blade, raising it to eye level, ready to attack. She has little advantage here, but her opponent is weaponless and McCall, while ready to, obviously does not want to fight. What she needs to be is quick, faster than both an alpha wolf and a Nogitsune at what seems to be full strength.

 

She concentrates all that she has, every last ounce of her power, and sends it through the fading connection she has with the blade. It glows for a split second, a dangerous red color, before fading back to the cold gray of steel. The Void’s eyes widen when It realizes what she has planned.  

 

“Look, lady, this really isn’t necessary. Put the sword down before you take someone's eyes out. We can talk about this, alright?”

 

But Noshiko is not here to talk. She is here to act. 

 

“Please, don’t do this. Just hear us out. We don’t have to fight! Please!” She pities that boy, truly. He, too, is too young for the responsibility that has been forced on him. However, she will not let his misguided protectiveness stand in the way of her cause. 

 

She has lost most of her power, but she is still a Kitsune, still walks with the spirit of the Celestial Foxes. Her powers lie in spirituality and spellwork. She raises her head, proudly takes a few steps forward. Her one good hand is steady. The blade does not waver. “The time for talk is over, don’t you think?” she says, then she attacks.

 

All she needs is one cut, one scratch deep enough to draw blood and it will be over. Unfortunately, she is not the only one who knows it.

 

“Scott, don't let her touch you! If that thing cuts you, you’re dead!” 

 

The demon is out of her range in a blink. It is quick, she had noticed it earlier, but It is not as quick as she remembers. Its dodging and weaving between the strikes of her blade is less like a dance, and more like desperate flailing now. Between now and last night, something has drained on Its energy.

 

Of course something has. Casting an illusion this far reaching cannot have been easy, and It is still maintaining it. The constant drain on Its power and attention can only work in her favor.

 

McCall however has no such issues. He’s a great fighter, but only at close range. Though a violent disposition is given by his nature as a wolf, at heart McCall is a pacifist. He does not enjoy violence, retreats where he could attack. He’s trying not to hurt her and his hesitation gives her an edge over the both of them.

 

It is a fine line that she is walking. She needs to keep them separated, for she cannot afford to cut the wrong one again, but placing herself in between them would leave her back unprotected and open to attack. Separating them might be a thing of impossibility though, as McCall does his best not to move from the Void’s side, never giving her a clear shot.

 

It is not just McCall protecting the demon, though. It does the same, shoving McCall back more than once when the tip of her sword comes just a bit too close for comfort. The Demon seems similarly protective of McCall as McCall is of It. Maybe It has some further use for the alpha that has yet to become clear?

 

She aims for It again but her swings are either avoided or dodged as the two of them crowd into each other or scatter in different directions, finding each other again seconds later. They make split second decisions as if they share a brain, leading her in circles around the clearing and not giving her time to rest, lest they would disappear into the trees. It is frustrating and meant to exhaust her and she will not put up with it.

 

A well-aimed swing finally separates the two and when she turns the blade towards the demon, It once again stumbles back, then turns and runs, heading towards the trees. If It gets past the treeline into the bushes Noshiko will win. The Nogitsune is stumbling, getting weaker and more exhausted by the minute and if it has to add dodging roots and foliage to Its escape plan, Noshiko  _ will  _ find the opening she needs eventually.

 

“Stiles!” comes a shout from behind her. McCall sounds desperate, fearful, and she can hear his footfalls behind her as they both try to catch up. To her surprise, the Void does listen. Stopping just beyond the trees, the demon turns with a curse on Its lips as It dive-rolls backwards and to the side. It comes up again behind her on her right somehow and Noshiko is sure that that is a move Stilinski would never have managed.

 

She turns quickly, taking a second to collect her breath before starting another assault. It seems to have been a second too long. Somehow, the Nogitsune and McCall have devised a strategy in the one moment she left them unobserved. 

 

The Void throws an arm up in her direction and suddenly she's no longer running through a forest. McCall is gone from her sight suddenly, but the monster isn’t. They are standing in a dimly lit and horribly familiar courtyard. Wire fences and concrete walls surround them and the  _ noise. _

 

There are screaming rioters all around her. Smoke and gasoline sting her eyes and under it she can smell blood and burning flesh. A second later she hears glass shattering and then a once loved voice screaming out in agony.

 

“RHYS!” she is screaming too, but her voice barely reaches her own ears. People all around her; orderlies, internees, guards - all fighting and shouting at each other, gunshots cracking and bullets whizzing through the air. It is chaos, pure chaos. Around her, people are dying and screaming. She cannot see Rhys, but she sees the flames, hears his pain filled wailing and it is  _ her fault _ . If she had not spoken up, if she could have held her tongue for but a few days longer… 

 

Something hits her elbow and when her hand reflexively lets go of what it is holding the illusion breaks.

 

She is back to where she had been a minute ago, rattled and weaponless but not defeated. McCall is bending down to take the blade from her. Noshiko, however shaken, is quicker. She springs forward and grips the hilt just as McCall’s hand is about to close around the blade. 

 

“Scott, NO!”

 

Noshiko rips the blade away in the same moment as McCall is thrown backwards and a fair distance from both her and the deadly weapon.

 

Where McCall just stood, there is now a obviously furious Nogitsune in his place. It is as if the forest freezes. The sounds of birds and insects all around fall silent, the leaves stop rustling and even the wind stills. The background white noise of illusions she’d already seen through vanishes, as It fixes her with a face twisted by rage.

 

All she can hear is her own heavy breathing and the low, static crackling sound of electricity. The demon is Void and as such cannot be a thunder kitsune like Kira is, but every single one of her kind can create foxfire at different strengths. Nogitsune are no exception. Its eyes are glowing white and sparks are dancing on Its skin.

 

“If you do that again, if you harm a single hair on his head, if you so much as think of pointing that blade even vaguely in his direction, you are going to make me forget myself, and right now that might as well be a literal statement.” the demon hisses. “I get what your beef with me is, okay? I get it. I’m a Nogitsune now. I’m evil. I have to die. Whatever. But you leave Scott out of it. If you make me drag another curse out of his blood, next time I’m not leaving you only with bruises. I’ll just snap your neck and watch you try to heal from that.”

 

Before she has time to process any of that, a new voice cut through the unnatural quiet of the woods. 

 

“Mom!”

 

_ “Kira?!” _

 

**~*~**

**Kira**

  
  


The scene Kira walks in on is so tense, she can literally see the sparks flying. Well, they are bouncing off of Stiles, and since when could he do stuff like that? It looks awesome - as in literally awe-inspiring - and frightening at the same time. Kira is, however, sick and tired of fearing the people she would call her friends. Scott can look frightening as well with the red eyes and the claws and the fangs. It doesn’t stop him from being one of the kindest, most genuine people she has ever met. 

 

Also it’s not like Kira can talk. She’s still not comfortable with the way she looks in all the photos she took after forgetting to turn the flash off. The fox spirit surrounding her still looks vaguely demonic even if she now knows that’s not what it is.

 

She doesn’t know what’s going on with Stiles - from what Lydia and the sheriff had said,  _ nobody  _ knows what’s going on with Stiles - but the way she sees it her mother is threatening her friends and that’s unacceptable. She looks frankly murderous and Kira had always felt that death was a bit too permanent a punishment no matter the crime.

 

Even worse, the weapon her mother is using is the blade that she had given Kira and- that's Kira's now. Inside of her something is rebelling against the very idea of someone else using it, and the fact that it's being used against her friends… Kira has a hard time not screaming out in fury, which surprises her. She’s not usually a very angry person. 

 

When she calls out to them and they all turn to her, the sparks surrounding Stiles don’t frizzle out like she almost expects them too. If anything they fly faster and if even half of what she just heard him say is true she doesn’t blame him. 

 

It’s Scott however, now slowly getting up from the ground, who finds his voice first. “Kira, what are you doing here?” 

 

She huffs. “Lydia called me after  _ you _ neglected to tell me that my mother was out hunting down one of my friends.  _ Again.”  _ She leaves out the strange feelings that she’d been getting since the night before, weird shivers over her spine that seemed like they were trying to tell her something, but she found herself unable to understand. They lead her here, even through the snowstorm that, now that it’s vanished, she realizes was never there in the first place. Instead of focusing on the confusion, she wraps herself in her anger and turns to her mother.  

 

“I’d like that back now, please.” she says, gesturing towards her katana. Her voice comes out colder and more cutting than she thought she was capable of, but not any more than she meant it to be. Something important was stolen from her by someone she is meant to trust and that betrayal cuts deep. Her mother winces and looks guilty for a second but as soon as Kira is finished speaking the sword vanishes from her hands and reappears in her Kira’s, along with the sheath.

 

She blinks. “Okay, that’s new.” Deciding to think about her seriously wicked sword summoning powers at a time that isn’t as potentially disastrous as this one, she sheathes the blade but doesn’t loosen her hold on it any. She can’t bring herself to. In fact, her knuckles are white with the strength of her grip. Now that she has it back, she doesn’t feel safe in letting it go. 

 

“Now,” she says, looking at each of them in turn. “Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on here? Scott?”

 

She thinks she’s prepared for what Scott is going to say. She’s wrong.

 

“Well. Stiles is… sort of… a Nogitsune again? Except not really? He’s still himself, I’m sure about that.” Scott says the last part hastily, like he has to force the words out before she has the chance to react, but his voice is steady when he does. Kira doesn’t doubt a thing he says, or at least she doesn’t doubt that he believes what he’s saying, which unfortunately, isn’t quite the same thing.

 

She is already taking a step back before catching herself. Then she straightens and throws her mother a cautious glance. She almost expects one of them to yell “April fools” next, but that would be too easy, wouldn’t it? 

 

When no one does, Kira turns to Stiles. “Are you?” She wants him to say no. He looks like he wants to say no. She would believe him if he did. She wants to. She doesn’t want another Nogitsune to deal with. The last one had been a living nightmare for everyone and if Stiles is- there are so many ways in which this could go wrong.

 

But she knows better.

 

“Am I what? A Nogitsune or still myself? Because I’m gonna have to say yes to the first part, but Scott here is the one of us who is sure about the second. I honestly have no idea. I’d like to be? I want to believe I am. That’s gonna have to be good enough, because it’s all I can give you.” The self-disparaging tone is almost painful to listen to. It’s obvious to her that this isn’t something that Stiles chose, but rather something that was done to him.

 

It really shouldn’t be enough, not after what she’d seen of the Nogitsune and what it was capable of. Not after how it had tricked both her and Scott before. And maybe it’s naive of her, but Scott believes him and he at least has never lied to her, not like her mother did her entire life and well if Kira is feeling slightly petty at the moment, that’s no one's business other than hers. Still, better safe than sorry. 

 

She walks over to the both of them, ignoring how Stiles tenses and how the sparks dancing on his skin fly even faster, ignoring her mother shouting her name behind her, telling her to stop, and ignoring Scott who is looking at her with fearful apprehension, like he doesn’t trust that she won’t hurt his best friend. She doesn’t quite manage not to be offended by that. She comes to a stop before them, close enough that there are sparks landing on her. Stiles makes no effort to stop them. Kira is a thunder kitsune, or so her mom had said, and the both know electricity doesn’t hurt her. 

 

She looks him in the eyes, studies his face for a few long moments, blanks out everything else and listens with the new sense, the one that led her here.

 

What she feels from Stiles is darkness. An emptiness like the void between stars, endless stretches of nothing, leading everywhere and nowhere at once. He feels almost hollow to her, cold and… unattached? Untethered? Neither word feels quite right. If she didn’t know it’s impossible, she would be afraid that he’d float away any minute. Then she realizes that she really doesn’t actually know any better, with how crazy her life has gotten since she moved to this town. 

 

What she doesn’t see in him is malice. If anything he’s trepid, anxious. Afraid how she will react, probably. 

 

She nods at him once, then turns her back to him, leaving herself completely vulnerable. 

 

“Kira, get away from there!” her mum is shouting like Kira is standing on a rooftop about to jump off rather than with her friends. She gets it, really. She's not actually sure of what she's doing, or if it is a good idea, but if she doesn't put herself between them, she fears that she will either lose Stiles or her mother before she even has the chance to figure out what’s happening.

 

Neither of them seems likely to back down otherwise.

 

Her mom won't risk hurting her though, and she’s almost sure that Stiles won’t either. She hopes, anyway. God, she probably should have been sure about that before she put herself between her mother and a pissed off Nogitsune. She swallows down her nervousness.

 

“Now, if we could just-” but she doesn't get any further because that's when something hits her in the back. An electric current surges through her and she stumbles forward. Sparks dance all over her like they did for Stiles seconds before, but it's instinctual, easy as breathing, to dismiss them. 

 

She catches herself and turns while her mother is shouting and running towards them. Kira doesn't know what she expects she'll be doing, without a weapon and with Scott in full on protective mode and surging towards them as well, but it doesn't come to that anyway.

 

Her mother’s arms are around her, pulling her back, trying to shove her away from the boys she came to help. But Stiles didn't attack her. 

 

He collapsed against her.

 

In a second, the unnatural quiet of the forest, that she hadn't even registered before, disappears. There is noise again and the last few rays of twilight that illuminate the clearing suddenly seem warmer. Everything is tinted orange in the light of the fading sun but none if that matters because Stiles was standing and ready to fight minutes ago and now he looks like he's dying, lying face down on the ground. 

 

“Stiles!” Scott is on his knees and by his side in an instance. He tries to turn him onto his back, probably to check his breathing, but pulls away with a gasp, looking down at his hands that are suddenly stained a shocking blood red. 

 

Kira almost doesn’t notice her mother’s arms going limp and falling away from her. She’s kneeling next to Scott and pushing Stiles’ clothes up in the next second and what she sees there has her bite back a scream.

 

There is a deep gash across Stiles’ back, deep enough that Kira thinks she can see his vertebrae. It’s bleeding purposefully, but what’s more concerning is that  _ it definitely wasn’t there _ when Kira got there and no one has touched Stiles since. This wound came literally out of nowhere and she doesn’t- she can’t- What?

 

“What’s happening to him?!” Scott voices her thoughts, desperate and desperately trying to stem the blood flow, but Kira has no answers. There is no reasonable explanation for why Stiles is suddenly bleeding out on the frozen ground between them.

 

“I know what this is,” comes a whisper from behind her and in her panic, Kira had almost forgotten that her mother was there as well. 

 

“You know what this-?! Did you do this?!” Kira has never heard that amount of venom from Scott. He sounds close to exploding and if his hands weren’t busy keeping Stiles’ blood on the inside rather than the outside of his body, she’s sure they would be shaking in with his anger. Or bend into claws.

 

“What did you do to him? Hasn’t he suffered enough already? Why the hell can’t you just leave him alone?!” Scott’s voice breaks halfway through and Kira heart breaks with it. She’s only known these two for a few months, most of which Stiles had spent either possessed or actively trying to have as little contact with the outside world as humanly possible. She doesn’t know either of them as well as she would like but she knows they are good people and even if they weren’t, no one deserves this.

 

Her mother kneels down beside her, with an expression that is hard as stone but laced with more guilt than Kira had expected. Scott is growling and flashing red eyes at both of them, an obvious warning to stay away. Her mom doesn’t listen. 

 

“I didn’t do this to him, McCall,” she says. The disbelief in her voice is startling. It seems like she almost doesn’t belief the words she’s saying. Or maybe it’s that she has trouble believing the situation as a whole. It certainly seems surreal to Kira. Apparently, she hasn’t quite gotten used to sudden life or death situations popping up around her yet.

 

“I didn’t do this to  _ him _ ,” her mom repeats, this time with more urgency in her tone. “I did this to  _ you _ , McCall.  _ Yesterday _ . And he- He must have- but why would he?”

 

“What?” Scott bites out, but receives no answer. Kira isn’t even sure if her mom heard him. She seems lost in thought, confused and looking oddly vulnerable, like her whole worldview has just shattered. Whatever it is that she thinks Stiles did, it obviously doesn’t fit with what she thinks Stiles is. All of that would be incredibly fascinating, surely, if Stiles wasn’t currently bleeding out on the forest floor. They do not have time for mental breakdowns.

 

There is sweat building on Scott’s forehead from his efforts, but Stiles just won’t stop bleeding. Kira hates how helpless she feels, but what can she do? There must be something she can do, right? There must be- 

 

Well. There is  _ one  _ thing.

 

She turns to her mother, lays a hand on each of her shoulders, turning her forcefully and trying to get her to look at her. “What are you saying? You did this to  _ Scott? _ Why would you-? So Stiles somehow took his- his injury? How? And if so then why did it take so long for it to appear on him, and how the hell does that even matter now? How do we stop this?” 

 

Kira can hear her own voice going quickly more hysterical but her mom just stares at Stiles, eyes slowly widening and looking more and more horrified by the second, like she hadn’t hear a word of what Kira said. But Kira doesn’t- Stiles doesn’t have the time for her guilt trip right now and since her mother doesn’t seem to be listening, Kira does the only thing she can think of. She pulls her hand as far back as she can, and slaps her mom with all the force she can muster.

 

The sound of hand-hitting-cheek resounds through the air like the crack of a whip, her mom’s head snaps around with the force of the hit and Kira can already feel how grounded she will probably be for that stunt, but it does it’s job and her mom’s eyes clear enough for Kira to assume that she’s listening again. 

 

“How do we stop this?” Kira implores and finally her mom shakes off her stupor and straightens. 

 

“There might be a way, but I will need both of your assistance. If we hurry it may not be too late for him. I have to warn you though. This will not be pleasant.”

 

“Does it look like I care?” Kira says at the same time as Scott snaps. “Why are you helping now? It wasn’t five minutes ago that you tried to kill him.”

 

“A mistake on my part,” her mom admits and to her credit she does actually sound contrite. “One which I would appreciate your help in fixing. I do not think that I am strong enough to do this on my own.”

 

“Do what?” 

 

“The blade I cut you with last night was cursed, McCall. Cursed to keep the wound it inflicted open even on one with supernatural healing. I was surprised to see you standing here, by all appearances healed and perfectly fine, but it seems that it was less of your doing than it was his.” She says voice still full of wonder and disbelief.

 

“It was a curse cast with intend to kill that which it hit. To take it from you and into himself, in some way of form, conscious or subconsciously, he must have agreed to die in your stead. His own innate magic kept it contained but this would always have happened eventually. The fact that he drained himself with all the illusions he cast just accelerated the process.”

 

Scott’s jaw clenches so hard that Kira can actually hear his teeth grinding. In the hopes of not escalating the situation any further - and yes that is possible, it’s always possible, Kira might not be used to Beacon Hills yet, but she has  _ learned _ \- Kira opens her mouth before Scott gets the chance to get any angrier. 

 

“So how do we stop this? What do we do?” 

 

“By taking the curse I cast into himself he essentially consented to all consequences that would come from that action. Within the terms and laws of magic, he has agreed to be killed this way. Because of this, because of his consent in this, I cannot undo the curse anymore. It has evolved, become something different under his own influence. What I can do, as the one who cast it, is attempting to change it again myself, from my end. But I cannot do it alone. Kira, as I used your blade to do this I will need your help to undo it. And McCall, since you are the one this was originally cast on you will need to be involved in changing the magic as well. This will not be over without a sacrifice from each of us, including him.”

 

Next to Kira, Scott takes a few deep breaths, trying and failing to calm himself. He gives it up pretty quickly and just says, “What do you need us to do?”

 

Her mom turns to her first. “Kira, I need your permission to use your blade.” She flinches and instinctively wants to refuse, but then slowly extends her hand that’s still clenched around the sheath.

 

“What do you want to use it for?” she says, hesitant. 

 

“Not on him.” and her mom’s expression says that that is going to have to be good enough. Apparently, she is past the point of giving explanation. 

 

“And me?” asks Scott. 

 

“I need access to the wound, so you need to move but touch him. Anywhere. Just a hand will be enough.” Scott reacts immediately and grabs one of Stiles’ hands in both of his. “You will be supplying him with energy and grounding him while I’m working on the curse.”

 

Her mom unsheathes the first few inches of Kira’s blade and before she does anything with it looks Kira directly in the eye. “Do I have your permission, daughter?”

 

Even knowing her mom the question sounds too formal, and Kira realizes that this is the start of whatever counterspell will need to be cast.

 

“You have my permission to use my katana to save the life of Stiles Stilinski.” That might be a bit overly specific, but better to be safe than sorry here. In any case he mom nods with approval and then wraps her hand around the blade to slice deep into the palm.

 

Her mother is mumbling some long string of what Kira assumes is an ancient form of Japanese. Kira speaks modern Japanese fluently, but what she’s hearing now might as well be gibberish. She watches the blood flow from her mother’s hand which she’s holding central over Stiles’ wound and sees the symbols it shapes as it drips down around the cut. Above it, it forms “Life”, beneath “Recover”, and then “Return” and “Anchor” on each end of it. Connecting the characters are strings of smaller symbols, each too tiny for Kira to read but they spread outwards like an ink spill, until they cover most of Stiles’ back and arms. Some are creeping over Scott and Stiles’ linked hands and up Scott’s arm as well.

 

It takes quite a while for her mother to stop chanting and when she finally does she presses both hands down hard on the middle of Stiles wound. The blood, writing, whatever it is, starts glowing a startling sky blue color so bright, Kira has to squint and almost turns away to not be blinded. Then the symbols start to move inward, crawling over Stiles’ skin and disappearing beneath her mom’s hands, for all appearances flowing  _ into _ the wound. Her mom’s eyes are glowing the same color as the symbols and Kira watches her gritting her teeth against a scream that no one but the three of them would hear.

 

Slowly, the cut starts to close and a red mist wafts out of it that Kira wants to shy away from. It feels wrong and twisted and - oh god that’s the curse, isn’t it? It has to be. 

 

Finally the last of the blue glowing symbols sinks into Stiles’ wound and the cut closes behind it, sealed shut and healed in an instant, leaving nothing but a long silver scar that looks years old, not seconds.

 

Once it’s done, three things happen in rapid succession. 

 

First, Scott hisses, holding his right wrist, as the kanji for “anchor” burns itself into the back of his hand like a tattoo.

 

Second, her mom lets out the scream that she was holding back. Kira sees the blue shine drain out of her eyes and she  _ knows _ instantly that something is horribly wrong here.

 

Third and lastly, Stiles arches off the ground, eyes wide open and glowing like twin moons. He gasps, sits up, and looks around. His eyes land on Kira’s mom, her blood stained hands and sudden swaying, and before anyone can react, he's by her side, kneeling down and reaching for her.

 

But where Kira expects more violence, because what else can she expect at this point, Stiles acts concerned, almost frightened for her. He hovers, unsure if he is allowed to touch and catches her easily when she sinks back against him. She looks tired, more than that she looks exhausted. She’s shivering like she’s cold but when Stiles shrugs off his own jacket and wraps it around her she thanks him, quietly.

 

“Why would you do this?” he asks, just as quiet and imploring. Is it that he doesn’t understand why she changed her mind from wanting him dead to saving him, or is it something else? If it’s that, Kira thinks she might understand. 

 

Stiles had saved Scott’s life by giving up his own; an act of selflessness that someone truly evil would not be capable of. Therefore, Stiles cannot be entirely evil, no matter how dark and hollow his magic feels - no matter if he is Nogitsune or not. 

 

“Because I made a mistake, and giving up this part of me was the only way to fix it,” is her mother’s answer, which only serves to confuse Kira. She doesn’t seem like she regrets what she did, in fact her mom acts almost… relieved? Satisfied certainly, even if she is still leaning on Stiles, too weak to sit up on her own.

 

“Give up what? Mom?” she asks, hesitant because she’s afraid of what the answer will be. 

 

Her mom looks at her, but doesn’t say a word. Stiles, who is shooting looks between the three of them like they are all being deliberately dense, snorts in disbelief. 

 

“You don’t see it? What, are you  _ blind?” _

 

“Stilinski!” Admittedly, seeing her mother leaning on the friend she had been sporadically advocating to kill, is a bit weird and while Kira is still dealing with that cognitive dissonance, her mom and Stiles seem to fight out an entire argument with their eyebrows only. 

 

“No, no you don’t- You. You’re-”

 

Stiles at loss for words is never a good thing, Kira knows that much. Obviously, Scott does too because when Kira tries to ask what they mean one more time, Scott is faster.

 

“What are you talking about?” he says, eyes flickering between Stiles and her mom in rapid succession. Apparently Kira isn’t the only one who is baffled by the sudden familiarity between them.

 

Stiles shakes his head, looking to be caught somewhere between awe and hysteria and holding onto Kira’s mom as if she’s something breakable. Something fragile. “You really can’t see it, can you? She gave up the last of her magic for me. She’s human.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand here we are. One more chapter to go and that's it. I know I said that last time but this time I actually mean it. (Probably. There are still Allison and Aiden to deal with after all.) 
> 
> You guys happy with how I handled Noshiko? Also, quick poll: Do you want me to write smut or nah?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some much needed talks are had and then the gang visits the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are wondering why this took so long, my beta and I both had exams and am now participating in 3 zines. So in case you are into Naruto, I’m writing a short story for both the [Naruto History Zine](https://narutohistoryzine.tumblr.com/) and the [Mixup no Jutsu Zine](https://mixupnojutsuzine.tumblr.com/). And in case you really like All Might from BNHA I’m a mod for the [Plus Ultra Fashion Periodical](https://bnha-plus-ultra-fashion-zine.tumblr.com//) as well (which will be free to download!!!) and we have some pretty great artists for that one, so go check it out. 
> 
> You also may have noticed that the final chapter count is now a question mark. This is because I gave up all hope on estimating when I'll be done with this. I assume it's gonna be one more chapter and an epilogue, but then again I thought the same thing when I posted chapter 7. Now look at me.
> 
> As always, I thank all of you for every kudo, bookmark, comment and hit on this mess. I love you guys. Seriously.

**~*~**

**Stiles**

  
  
  


Noshiko takes them all home. Well, she offers to do it but then Kira ends up driving because she’s the one who has been affected the least, and the only one out of the four of them who has actually slept. Scott might have too, Stiles thinks to himself, but Scott is also being weirdly silent, almost absent, and Stiles can’t really fault him for it. He won’t begrudge him for taking some time to process everything. Stiles sure as hell needs it too. The past two days have been a roller coaster of emotion. He can hardly believe that yesterday around this time he was curled up on a couch with Scott watching Star Wars, still mostly human and oblivious. 

 

Now he’s not either - human or oblivious - and while he would give anything to go back to being the simple sidekick token human of the pack, he thinks there might be some good things to come out of this too. He squeezes Scott’s hand a little.

 

On his other side, Noshiko is trying to hold herself together. They are all squeezed together on the backseat. She looks younger - almost childlike - and Stiles can’t pinpoint why he feels like that. The regal and self-possessed air she always has around her has not left and even with the cast on her wrist and bruises around her neck she seems unrattled and almost untouchable as always. Except for how Stiles knows that she isn’t. He is sixteen going on a thousand and the instinctive protectiveness he feels when he looks at her, tastes her confusion and unsettlement is weird and unsettling itself in its suddenness. Somewhere in the back of his brain there is a part of him that bristles at one of their own, another (former) Kitsune, so lost and out of place.

 

The rest of him just hates seeing her like this, no matter what she has done to him. No one deserves the things that she had to go through, and if she reacted violently then, well - so did Stiles. She regrets it, he has no doubts about that, because he does too. He can taste her regret in the air around them; bitter and heavy, like too much dark chocolate, and clogging his nose, pressing like a weight on the back of his tongue and suffocating any words he might say before he can think to speak them. He doesn’t dare break this quiet accord they seem to have found. The peace between them feels tenuous enough already.

 

It looks like she believes him when he says he’s Stiles, but he is still Void. There is no changing that. Saying he doesn’t want to hurt people would always be at least a partial lie now, and Noshiko is a protector at heart, like all Celestials. That she’s tolerating him this much - more than tolerating - that she gave up her powers and her immortality for him, that she’s leaning on him and trusts him enough to let him close, is nothing short of a miracle. He’s grateful and baffled at the same time, and takes it as the concession that it is.

 

He grips Scott’s hand tighter until Scott squeezes back, but he can’t take his eyes of the bruises around Noshio’s neck. He scrapes together what courage he has left and lays a hand lightly on her arm to get her attention. 

 

“I- I want to see if I can do something about that-” he gestures at her wrist and neck with his one free hand-”if… if you’d let me.”

 

It’s too much trust he’s asking for here, and too soon, he knows, but he hates what he did and if he can fix at least a little bit of it than he has to try. He squirms a little under Noshiko’s heavy gaze, but eventually she holds out her hand and lets him take it. She’s watching him with something like curiosity. That’s strange. He’d expected apprehension. 

 

“This shouldn’t hurt,” he says, then the by now all too familiar black veins on pulsing energy start crawling up is arm. He savors the burn of it through his blood, but keeps watching the bruises around Noshiko’s neck at the same time. Only when there is no more pain or discomfort left in her and the last of them has faded does he pull his hand back. 

 

Noshiko is still staring at him turning her wrist this way and that, clenching and unclenching her fingers at the same time. He can’t be sure that he healed it completely - broken bones are different from bruises after all - but he hopes he at least helped it heal faster. 

 

“Remarkable,” says Noshiko. “I never knew that your kind can heal.” The words hold neither judgement nor thanks, and Stiles decides that he doesn’t have the energy to spare on trying to figure out if there is a hidden meaning in that or not.

 

For now they have an angry and worried pack to placate, and a probably even angrier and even more worried father to calm down. Stiles isn’t looking forward to that conversation in the slightest.

 

They arrive at his house faster than he expects. He hasn’t had any time to prepare himself, doesn’t know how to face his father or the rest of the pack, doesn’t know what to say to them when they inevitably ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, running away like that.

 

He knows he doesn’t want to lie to them, and that - now that there is no other immediate danger anymore - he will not stay long. Allison and Aiden have waited too long for him to get his act together already.

 

He expects Kira to just drop them off and then take her mother home. Stiles is almost reluctant to let them go, can barely stand to let her out of his sight, but Noshiko will be better helped by her family. The loss of her powers, no matter how willing, was traumatic and her husband and Kira will be more adept at settling her than Stiles could ever hope to be. But when Scott and Stiles get out of the car, Kira kills the engine and then both her and her mother follow them to the door. 

 

“You will need someone to help you explain,” is all that Noshiko says to him and Stiles feels a weight lift off of his shoulders. This conversation will still be uncomfortable, but having Noshiko and Kira back him up as well as Scott should make all of it go far smoother than he’d feared.

 

Scott doesn’t let go of his hand until Stiles needs it to unlock his front door. He also still doesn’t say anything, but he is a reassuring presence at his shoulder when Stiles hugs his dad, and when he becomes overwhelmed with answering the initial questions that come from every direction at once, Scott shakes off his stupor, steps in and tells the others to quiet down, one question at a time please. They are all there - his dad, Lydia, Isaac, Malia, Derek, Ethan - the only ones missing are Mr Argent and Melissa. None of them look happy about being told to be quiet, but they do comply eventually. 

 

“Yeah and give me some room to breathe while you're at it, why don’t you?” The air is heavy with the taste of worry, fear, annoyance and a plethora of other emotions all in varying levels of intensity and it both gives Stiles a headache and makes his stomach growl. He suppresses the urge to poke the hornet's nest of a room full of emotionally supercharged supernaturals - just to see what would happen - and begins to explain. 

 

But even without the new sense, he could taste the tension in the air. Derek has planted himself, cross armed next to the window. He looks like an especially grumpy gargoyle, and the way he never takes his eyes off Stiles isn’t making him any less anxious. Scott must sense his anxiety, because he grabs Stiles’ hand and drags him over to the couch. A look from Scott has Malia and Isaac getting up to make room for them, but it’s Noshiko who sinks down next to Stiles on the cushioned piece of furniture. Scott, still not letting go of his hand, sinks down on the armrest.

 

Stiles starts at the beginning, months back, tells them how he isolated himself because he didn't think he was safe to be around. How he went to the memorial because he wasn't getting any better so he might as well try and see how he’d fare back in civilisation. How he came back to school. What happened with the girl he had taken to the nurse, the dreams and everything else.

 

He’s vaguely aware of Lydia’s swallowed gasp and the fear barely hidden on Isaac’s face, but he watched his father more than anyone else as he talks. His dad is visibly trying to keep himself from screaming and Stiles can’t even say he blames him. Knowing that the supernatural exists was already almost too much for his dad, once. Now coming to terms with the fact that his son is part of that world and part of the less friendly faction to boot? He sees his dad’s tense shoulders, watches his eyebrow twitch and knows this could break them.

 

He keeps telling the story.

 

The only thing he leaves out are the memories, and he’s grateful when Scott doesn’t bring it up either, though he must notice Stiles’ deliberate omission. It’s just that it’s something he himself hasn’t dealt with yet. He needs some more time before he drops that bombshell.

 

The fact that he’s supernatural now is a hard enough pill to swallow. The room is quiet while he talks, though. Ethan is staring at Stiles’ face like he’s not sure if he wants to punch his teeth in right now or wait until later. His eyes flicker to his and Scott’s entwined fingers from time to time and eventually he settles on pacing the room and not looking at anyone while he listens to the rest of the story.

 

When he gets to what happened at the hospital Stiles breaks off, because self-defence is one thing, but Stiles knows he was unnecessarily vicious then. Too much emotion and too much rage - too many conflicting instincts, new senses that he still can't control… He snapped, plain and simple, and it had almost cost Noshiko her life.

 

Loathe as he is to admit it, he's starting to realise what Scott meant way back when, when he said that being around Allison made him weak. Being around Scott makes him emotional to the point of irrationality. It's not weakness, he knows that. It's a lack of control and control can be learned, but he hasn't yet and he hates what he almost did to Noshiko because of it, twice now. What happens the next time Scott is in danger around him? Or his dad? Someone else he cares about?

 

He must have fallen silent for too long because Noshiko leans forward, picks up from there and tells the pack about their fight. She's entirely neutral in her recounting of events, not laying any blame at anyone's feet, but Kira’s eyes still go wide as she hears what happened and she looks between the two of them like she doesn’t know who to be more angry with. Malia comes up behind her and lays a hand on her shoulder, giving Kira a look that communicates  _ ‘They are both idiots. It’s not worth it’ _ better than words possibly could. It doesn’t drain the tension out of Kira’s ramrod straight back, but she doesn’t interrupt them either. It gives Stiles some time to prepare and when it's time for him to pick up the tale again his voice is only a little shaky. 

 

He tells them about how he called Derek, even though Derek must have told them this part already. How he came home and why he left again for the preserve. About calling to Noshiko and keeping all others away with the storm. About Scott being a stubborn idiot and finding him anyway and everything that happened after, as much as he remembers of it. 

 

Another thing he leaves out is his and Scott’s new relationship. Not because he’s not proud of it or because he’s afraid of how everyone would react, or even because he doesn’t want them to know. No, it’s because it’s still so new that Stiles himself has trouble believing it. Knowing that Scott loves him isn’t new, but loving each other this way is, and he wants to keep this thing between them private until they get the chance to learn what exactly they are to each other now.

 

It's Kira who tells them about what happened after he collapsed. Her voice is still angry, but despite it she’s good at storytelling. Stiles listens carefully, as this part is new to him as well. He has a vague idea what must have happened, but it's different listening to her telling the actual story.

 

Kira gave her permission, Scott his energy and Noshiko the rest of her spark to save him, and now Stiles is alive and anchored to Scott. He's bound and restricted in a way he knows no other of his kind would ever accept, let alone appreciate.

 

He takes a moment to feel for it, concentrates on the thread that connects him to Scott. As much as it disturbs him, Stiles loves it. It grounds him, this almost imperceptible connection. It's like another added sense, a low grade awareness that Scott is there. He thinks he'll always know where to find him now, no matter where they go. This must be what a pack bond is like, for wolves.

 

He thought he’d been part of Scott’s pack before, as a human, and he was. This is different. Wolves can only form rudimentary bonds with humans. They aren’t supposed to be able to for them with Nogitsune at all. With humans, it’s because of a lack of magic. With Stiles’ kind, it’s because of a fundamental incompatibility between the species. Scott can never be his alpha. Stiles’ very nature would rebel against anyone having that sort of control over him, but now they are bound together in a similar way.

 

With Scott as his tether, Stiles feels more real. Less like a spirit possessing himself and more like an actual person. He doesn’t feel like he could slip out of his body anymore. So yes, he loves it. Even if it is barely noticable.

 

Kira finishes her part hesitantly, glancing at her mother, unsure of whether or not to keep her condition secret. Noshiko huffs with irritation and pushes herself up from the couch. She moves slowly. Her bruises he could heal, but the wrist must still be tender and Stiles could do nothing for her general fatigue. She almost falters when trying to stand and Stiles reaches out to steady her, but she finds her balance without his help. 

 

“I made a mistake in judging him for what he has become rather than who he decides to be from now on. This mistake almost cost two innocent lives. In rectifying it, I gave up the last of my spark. This is the burden I must bear from now on. I am effectively human and I will not be able to help with what must happen now.” Where at first she had addressed the entire room, she now turns and only speaks to Stiles. “You will be on your own for that.”

 

Stiles swallows and nods. He hadn’t expected any different, but he shouldn’t be surprised that Noshiko feels responsible as well. They were, after all, hurt by the demon she summoned. “I’ll handle it,” he says, even if he’s not quite sure he can. 

 

“Wait! Just wait a minute!” and, oh yeah that’s his dad, finally speaking up. “Are you telling me that- that you-?” 

 

God, he can’t even say it. “That I’m a Nogitsune now?” Stiles finishes for him, hyper aware of the tension that spikes in the room at his admission. Ethan bristles in his corner and there is a low growl coming from Derek’s direction, but Stiles doesn’t care enough to turn and check. He’s focused on his dad. “Yeah. There’s kinda nothing to be done about that at this point.” Stiles hears the bitterness in his own voice and it sounds biting, but it’s drowned out by his dad’s sharp intake of breath.

 

Once more he finds himself grateful for Scott, his reassuring presence at Stiles shoulder, the warm grip he has on Stiles’ fingers. It’s a comfort and an encouragement to have him here with Stiles, at his side. His entire side feels warm where Scott is pressed against him and even with how uneasy the situation is it gives him hope. “I don’t particularly feel like hurting anyone in this room, if that helps?” 

 

His dad flinches at that. He looks as if he wants to step closer, but can't bring himself to do it.  “But you’re still Stiles? You’re still my son?” And god the desperation in his voice could break Stiles if he let it. Hasn’t his dad been through enough?

 

At least that is one thing he can reassure him about. “Yeah, I guess. I’m mostly still me.” 

 

“Mostly?” That’s Derek’s voice and it’s sharp and threatening, but Stiles ignores that part. Derek doesn’t frighten him, not the way his dad does. He can survive without Derek. He can’t live without his dad.

 

“Mostly.” He doesn’t have a better explanation for how he feels like he’s two beings become one, even if he knows the old Fox is dead. “Most of me is Stiles and the rest is… Well, I’d rather be Stiles than the Other, if I get to choose.”

 

That pained look is still on his dad’s face and Stiles can’t- He just can’t take it anymore. He get up, ignores the tension rising with him and really he wouldn’t be surprised to see sparks flying through the air at this point with how tightly coiled the room is. He moves slowly, so unbearably slowly, telegraphing every move as to not startle anyone in the room and then he’s standing in front of his dad and he doesn’t know what kind of expression he’s wearing but his father’s eyes soften when he sees it. 

 

He lays a hand on Stiles jaw, carefully as if he’s afraid Stiles is a soap bubble or an illusion and will vanish if touched. Stiles could tell him that that’s not how illusions work but then his dad is tilting his head, staring into his eyes and says, “You are my son,” and then Stiles doesn’t care about anything anymore. He’s pulled into a hug so fierce it might break his ribs, but that seems like an acceptable price to pay for this closeness. His dad believes him. His dad thinks he can still be Stiles and that is all he wanted, everything he’d hoped for.

 

It takes him a full five minutes to let go and step back again. His eyes are wet and so are his dad’s but Stiles blinks away the moisture and looks at the rest of the room. 

 

The tension is still there.

 

Out of everyone, only Malia and Scott look like they don’t care about what Stiles is. Scott looks like he’s proud even, which makes no sense at all and Malia gives Stiles a sharp and dangerous smile. He suddenly remembers that she probably understands best what it is like to deal with instincts you never wanted, but can’t bring yourself to hate. She never asked to be a coyote the same way he never asked to be a fox, the same way Scott never asked to be a wolf. If they could grow into their own, and become the amazing people that they are, then maybe so can Stiles. He can certainly try. 

 

Lydia is frowning, probably going back through their every interactions in the past months and trying to figure out if she could have seen it before. She couldn’t have, or maybe she could, she’s Lydia after all, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s done, it’s irreversible, and it’s certainly not her fault. Stiles wants to tell her as much, but he’s not sure she’d like him to talk about her misplaced guilt in front of the entire pack. He makes a mental note to have that conversation later, in private.

 

Then, he’s distracted by movement besides him. Isaac has withdrawn himself, edging towards the doorway in an not at all subtle attempt to put himself in a better position to run the moment Stiles snaps. While Stiles has never particularly cared about Isaac Lahey’s opinion of him, it still stings to know that he’s afraid. He freezes when he feels Stiles’ eyes on him and eventually he turns to Scott. “You’re sure he’s safe to be around?” 

 

Behind Stiles his dad tenses, but then Derek speaks up at the same time as Scott nods. “He’s Stiles. He’s never been safe to be around. I don’t see how this changes anything.” Stiles feels his uncertainty and hears his determination and he realises that that is probably as much verbal acceptance as he can expect from Derek. He won’t trust Stiles without watching him for a while and that’s okay. It’s a relief that he’s even willing to try, but it doesn’t relax Isaac any.

 

Stiles sighs. “You’re fine, Isaac. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, it would be incredibly stupid of me to hurt anyone in Scott’s pack, seeing as he’s a True Alpha and could actually kill me for it. I wouldn’t do anything to any of you,” he says, turning from Isaac and letting his gaze rest on each and every single person in the room. “Because I don’t want to.” he stresses again.

 

It’s not even a lie. There are things itching in his brain constantly. Things that do and don’t belong, urges to cut and rip, to find everyone’s weak spots and whisper just the right words into their ears to make them break. To pour verbal salt into mental wounds and then feast on the sting it causes, but when he looks around this room there’s nothing. He can still taste the heightened emotions all around him. He still sees the cracks in everyone, the places he could slip in to destroy them, but not one of these people register as prey. He doesn’t understand it, doesn’t know how he went from having to pull himself together not to hurt Scott -  _ Scott, _ the one he would give anything to protect - to being comfortable and in control in a room filled with what could be a feast of chaos and destruction if he so chose. Maybe it’s the bond he now has with Scott and by extension his pack, or maybe even their cautious acceptance has sparked some other new instinct. Whatever it is, he’ll take it and be thankful.

 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” His voice is small and even if this actually is a lie, it’s only half so. It would be more accurate to say that he doesn’t  _ want to _ want to hurt anyone. He shakes the thought off and turns to Ethan, who has been quiet and quietly seething the entire time. It’s easier to focus on him than on the apprehension of everyone else.

 

“You’re only here because Scott promised you that I could help Aiden.” It’s not a question because why else would Ethan be here? Stiles has no illusions about the twins’ loyalty. It’s to each other first and everyone else second. They have a truce with this pack, but they aren’t part of it, not really. Not yet. And Ethan certainly doesn’t care about Stiles enough to try and look for him out of worry. Which is why it’s easier to focus on him. His emotions are not at all focused on Stiles.

 

“That’s right.” Ethan confirms in the next moment, taking a step away from the wall and crossing his arms. “Are you telling me you can’t? Won’t?”

 

“No,” Stiles tries not to be offended by this obvious lack of faith in his willingness to help, reminds himself that Ethan has no reason to trust him. It doesn’t work entirely. “I’m saying I don’t know if I can do it. I’ve obviously never done it before. Doesn’t mean I won’t try. It’s kind of my responsibility.” 

 

Ethan huffs but Stiles is already turning back to the rest of the room. “I know this is- “ He struggles for the right word for a second “-unexpected and that you all probably have questions. But if there’s nothing absolutely life-or-death important, I’d like to call Melissa and go over to the hospital now. Aiden and Allison have been out of it for far too long already, and now I think I can do something about it. This time without interruptions.”

 

“I have a question.” says Isaac immediately, voice sharp. “How do we know that you are who you say you are? That you’re still Stiles? The sheriff seems to believe it and of course I trust Scott but-  I mean, not to play devil's advocate here, but we’ve been tricked before.” 

 

It’s a valid question and one he had hoped to avoid with Noshiko’s advocacy. Part of him is thankful that at least one person in this pack besides him is adequately paranoid, but on the other hand… he groans. “I can’t prove that I am who I say I am. I mean, what do you expect me to do? Tell you something only Stiles would know? I can’t because if I was possessed It would know everything anyway. I just… either you believe me, Scott, Kira and Noshiko or you don’t. There is nothing I can do to convince you, Isaac. Or is there?”

 

Isaac watches him, biting his lip and shoulders a bit hunched like they still so often are, when he feels put on the spot. He’s not happy with Stiles’ answer, really Stiles hadn’t expected him to be. Isaac isn’t a cautious person by nature, and he trusts Scott more than even Stiles trusts Scott sometimes but in this, for Allison? Yeah, this is round about the reaction he expected. The fact remains thought that he wants Allison back as much as the rest of them do, and the two urges visibly tear at him.

 

It’s made worse by Stiles being unable to prove anything. He could prove he’s Nogitsune, but that probably wouldn’t improve the situation. With the pack knowing what he is he shouldn’t blame then for thinking that he’s trying to get close to the patients for some nefarious purpose or another. He isn’t, but he can still understand Isaac’s thought process.

 

While Isaac can’t make up his mind of whether or not to trust him, it seems Lydia is getting frustrated with everyone’s lack of action. “This is getting us nowhere,” she says, impatiently. “If Stiles is who he says he is, then he can help. If he isn’t, we’ll deal with it. It’s not like we’ll leave him alone to do whatever he has to do. We’ll be right there watching and if something starts looking dubious we’ll be able to intervene. Until then there is no use in worrying, is there?” Her eyes are intense and boring right through Stiles and he doesn’t need her to speak the words, he can read the threat right there on her face.  _ ‘Hurt her and I’ll make you wish you had never been born’ _ . 

 

Stiles smiles nervously, then nods. There is no use in disagreeing with Lydia Martin and if she thinks he needs supervision than he’ll put up with it, for now.

 

“Good.” she says primly after Isaac finally agrees as well. He’s glaring daggers at the back of Stiles’ head and “Then let's go.”

 

**~*~**

 

Scott calls Melissa from the car, and tells her to meet them in front of Alison’s and Aiden’s rooms because they might have found a cure. 

 

She does, and Chris Argent is with her when they arrive. The hallway ends up rather crammed with the entire pack plus parents and auxiliary present. The only one who is missing is Deaton and Stiles briefly thinks that they might want to call him, just so that he doesn’t feel left out, but really there is no reason for him to be here other than that, and they’ve wasted enough time. Wasted too much time.

 

“You found something?” Chris looks hopeful against his will, like he knows better than to expect good news, but can't quite help it either. 

 

Isaac, Lydia and Derek are still watching Stiles all with varying degrees of wariness, but he ignores it when he turns to reply. “There might be something I can do.” Might. If they let him.

 

Chris obviously notes the tension in the air and reacts to it with tension of his own, but Stiles has by now spent hours explaining everything. He’s not going to do it again. He just wants to get it over with.

 

“Melissa, would you come with? If this works there should probably be a nurse present when they wake up. And even if they don’t. I can’t really be sure what will happen.” 

 

Stiles speaks with urgency and Melissa and Chris must both pick up on it as they refrain from asking further questions. Melissa agrees easily and when Lydia insists on there being at least one other pack member with them she sighs and shakes her head. “Two more people at most, if there must be any. Four people at once is already stretching it, three would be better.” 

 

Stiles nods, already thinking. “There are three others with the same condition. They are here too, right? On this floor? I’ll start with them.” It might sound heartless, but if he fails he’d rather fail on someone he doesn’t care about, and if it works, it will prove to the rest that he’s not trying to kill anyone before they have to let him near their friend/child/sibling/lover. 

 

Lydia seems to understand his pragmatism and is already nodding along. Good. No one else complains either, Isaac even seems relieved, though Scott looks like he knows Stiles’ reasoning and doesn’t like it one bit. Tough luck. It’s not like Scott has come up with a better idea.

 

“So who else is coming with me?” 

 

“Me, obviously.” says Lydia immediately, shooting him a look that say she can’t believe he’d be idiotic enough to even ask. “If something goes wrong I’ll be the first to know, after all.” 

 

Stiles doesn’t argue. He doesn’t much care who goes with him, though he hope that nothing will go wrong enough that they will need Lydia’s brand of death early detection powers. It’s more for the pack’s benefit than his; added insurance. He wonders how long he’ll be able to make concessions like this, to work with and around their apprehension. It’s already starting to grate on his nerves, no matter how understandable it is.  

 

Stiles half expects Scott to volunteer, or maybe Isaac, but it’s Ethan who steps forward before anyone else can. “Me too.” He fixes Stiles with an unreadable look, but he thinks he understands anyway. Ethan doesn’t trust anyone else to have his brother’s best interest at heart, so of course he’s coming. Isaac looks like he wants to protest, but Stiles really can’t take any more delays.

 

“Okay then.” He quickly turns to Melissa. “Lead the way.”

 

She guides them to the door of a patient's room. It’s past visiting hours already, which means that there are no potential friends of family members they’d need to kick out for Stiles to work. The sign next to the door reads “Vega Aswad” and there is a blank space beneath. It’s a room with two beds. One of them is empty. As they step in, Stiles’ eyes are drawn to the woman lying on the other.

 

She’s tall and her olive skin contrasts sharply with the stark white of the bedsheets. There are fresh flowers on her bedside table and at least half a dozen cards, all colorful and probably filled with well wishes. At least three of them look handmade by children and there is a small blue teddy bear leaned against the vase, that contains the brightest arrangement of daisies and wildflowers Stiles has ever seen. 

 

“She teaches preschool,” Melissa mentions when she notices Stiles’ look. “Pretty young teacher, too. The kids love her, as you can see. She gets a different visitor every day.”

 

Stiles swallows. “Well then let's get these kids their teacher back, shall we?” he says it quietly, mostly to himself. There’s no use in feeling guilty, but he does it anyway. 

 

Lydia grabs his hand as he moves forward. “You know I’ll be watching you, because I can’t quite trust you yet, but I want you to know, that I do want to believe you. The Stiles I know would never have done this and you’re fixing it now, so don’t go wasting any thoughts on blaming yourself. You can’t afford the distraction.” There is tension in her shoulders. Stiles is getting sick of people being tense around him all the time.

 

“I know,” he says and pulls away. She’s right of course, and of course she sees right through him. Guilt isn’t a pretty emotion, but he’s been feeling it for so long now that it’s like it has become part of him. However, he’s not doing this out of guilt, and she’s right. The most it does for him now is distract from what needs to be done.

 

He’s doing this because someone has to help, and he can. He’ll just have to remember that and not let himself get distracted.

 

“How long until someone comes in here to check on her?” he asks Melissa, while pulling up one of those plastic chairs that exist solely to torture people into not staying past visiting hours next to the bed, so that he can sit while he works.

 

“Not for another hour at least.” She lays a hand on his shoulder and he turns to look at her. “Stiles, are you sure you know what you’re doing?” 

 

“No.” He could lie to reassure her, but what good would that do anyone? “But no one else knows either so I might as well. If it doesn’t work it shouldn’t hurt her.” Shouldn’t because he doesn’t actually know what he’s doing.

 

He sits down, lets her hand slip off of him. Ethan and Lydia watch from the foot of the bed - one mistrustful, the other concerned - and Melissa walks around to the other side to check the heart rate monitor and the IV bag.

 

“What exactly are you going to do?” she asks after finding nothing out of the ordinary. 

 

“She’s trapped in her own mind by a curse. An illusion. I’m going to do what you, Lydia, and Scott did for me. I’ll go in there and try to break the illusion. If I do it right she should wake up after.”

 

“An illusion of what?” 

 

“An illusion cast by a Nogitsune not nearly as nice as I am. To be frank I have no idea what it is, but I doubt it’s pleasant.” That shuts up any further questions.

 

Stiles lays a hand on Aswad’s forehead, closes his eyes and blanks out everything else. He casts his senses out for her, her mind her emotions, her weak links. When he finds her fear it’s so intense that it almost chokes him. He braces himself and follows it into the depths of her mind

 

**~*~**

 

When he opens his eyes again, at first he thinks he must have done it wrong, or worse, that he’s too late and her mind has shattered and there is nothing left for him to find. But he felt her emotions when he came in here, can still feel them, is weaker for some reason. He knows there’s something here. He just can’t see.

 

Everything around him is dark. There is no light to tell him where he is, or, for that matter, where Vega Aswad’s self is hidden. That is what he needs to find, or it should be. Like what Scott and Lydia had done for him. He needs to find her in her own mind and wake her up. Once he makes her see that what’s around her isn’t real the illusion should break on it’s own and she should wake up. In theory at least. God he’s so in over his head.

 

The entire dreamscape is oozing absolutely mind numbing terror.

 

Anyone else would be driven mad by this, but Stiles, being what he is now, brushes it off. Well, mostly. He wants to take it in and bask in the tantalizing feeling of feeding on someone else's fear. He pushes the thought away. If he does this now, it wouldn’t help her. What he needs to do is find her. 

 

“Hello?” he tries. “Ms Aswad? Can you hear me?” He doesn’t expect it to work, but can’t hurt to try right? Wrong.

 

He hasn’t even finished speaking before the crying starts, but it’s not just one voice. It’s hundreds of voices, all childlike and so loud that Stiles has to clamp his hands over his ears as to not go deaf. He can’t see them in this darkness, but there must be hundreds of children all around him, all of them screaming, all of them crying, afraid and angry and in pain. He didn’t feel them before, doesn’t feel them now, so he knows they can’t be real, knows the must be a construct of Vega Aswad’s mind and the illusion that traps her here. 

 

And that’s when it clicks, what this is. The darkness should have given it away already. It’s fear. The illusion is building on her fear. Melissa said this woman is a teacher, of course she’d be afraid of crying children. It might represent a fear of failure or a specific event in her past, but as soon as the crying started the fear that saturates this place got even more intense.

 

The illusion shows her her worst fears, her worst nightmare over and over again until she’s brimming full with terror and ripe for the picking by one of Stiles’ kind. 

 

God he hates the asshole that did this. It terrifies him that he could do the same. He has been searching the Other’s memories, but while It had cast this curse, and similar variations of it before, curse breaking wasn’t exactly something It had done often.

 

“MS ASWAD!” Stiles is shouting at the top of his lungs now, but he could have whispered just as well. His voice is drowned out by all the screaming and crying around him. He needs a different plan. 

 

He needs to figure out what exactly it is that this woman is afraid of so that he can counteract it. The first part is obvious; the darkness. His first instinct is to try and cast an illusion that would create light, but the magic fizzles out as soon as he casts it. You can’t put an illusion inside of another illusion, apparently. 

 

The next thing he tries is to manipulate this one to give him some light. The power that created it is his now after all, he should be able to access it. However, this illusion didn’t spring from his own mind, not even from the Other’s, but from the fears already present in Aswad’s. The Other hadn’t even been there when it had been cast, had delivered this curse by proxy and via poison. In the end, the illusion does respond to Stiles but as darkness is one of the fundamental fears that it is build on, he can’t force it t make any light. He curses, tries to think though the noise of the screaming and crying, invisible children around him. Then he has an idea. It’s a stupid idea and he can feel himself regret it already but he’s running out of options here. Maybe he can work within the parameters of the spell to trick it into making light. He’s a trickster after all. Should be simple. Right.

 

When he was a child, Stiles had been afraid of lightning. That fear has long since past, with help from his mum and later his dad and Scott he’d conquered it, and by now he can see the beauty in storms and the way they cleansed the earth. 

 

His old fear has been replaced by some newer, rather more tangible ones. Which, he supposes, is to be expected when you live in Beacon Hills and don’t stick your head in the sand. For now, though, he tries to call up on it again. He tries to remember how it felt to curl up wrapped in a blanket and hidden under his bed, flinching at every strike of thunder, at every flash of light. Remembers being frozen and unable to move while the wind howled outside. Remembers his own single minded terror from when he was a child. Once he has a firm grasp on the memory he pushes it outward and into the magic around him. 

 

The change is instantaneous and far more severe than he had hoped it would be. The magic of the illusion picks up on the new fear and incorporates it accordingly. The wind picks up around him, so strong that it lifts him off his feet and into the air, away from the screaming voices. Higher and higher, he’s lifted, still surrounded by impenetrable darkness until - there! - a flash of lightning.

 

It only lasts a split second and Stiles doesn’t get the chance to see much, but there’s something in the distance.

 

Another flash, then a crash of thunder and the wind has taken him a little closer and now he sees - It’s a platform, maybe five square feet if that, and it stands high up in the middle of the clouds. On it, lying flat on her stomach and clinging to the edges as to not be blown right off, is a small dark shape that can only be Vega Aswad. 

 

Stiles curses. Of course one of her fears would be heights. 

 

He angles himself and with some maneuvering and a huge amount of luck, he manages to get himself close enough to grab hold of the platform himself. It’s tiny. It’s smaller than Stiles doesn’t want to think about what it must have been like, being trapped up here with nothing but darkness and the screaming voices of children for company.

 

“Hey!” he screams over the rushing wind. “You wanna get out of here?”

 

Even with absolute terror permeating every corner of her psyche, Vega manages to look at Stiles and convey how unimpressed she is with him in a single look. If Stiles wasn’t more worried that they were both going to die here, he’d be impressed. Can you even die in your own mind? In someone else’s?  _ The answer is ‘yes’, Stiles. You know that. _

 

He can’t try to convince her that this isn’t real. Even if she would be willing to listen, which Stiles isn’t sure about, then it’s still too loud for his words to reach her. He needs another idea and fast. Then it hits him.

 

“Yeah, well, grab my hand!”

 

“What?” The prospect of loosening the grip of even one of her hands from the platform’s edge seemingly doesn’t sit well with her. And, well, Stiles gets that but it’s not going to help them get out of here. 

 

“JUST DO IT!” 

 

She hesitates a second longer, then reaches out with more speed than Stiles would have thought her capable of and grabs his wrist. 

 

Stiles starts pulling her fear into himself instantly. There is far too much of it, but he keeps at it, keeps taking in her terror, her dread, her panic and confusion.  He doesn’t notice the wind and the screams falling quiet around them, or the fact that the darkness slowly lightens, that the platform they are both still clinging too lowers to the ground, inch by inch. 

 

When he is done, there is no more fear left in Vega Aswad - there is nothing left for the illusion to amplify and feed off of. It shatters around them and they are both violently expelled back into reality. t

 

**~*~**

 

The chair hits the floor and takes Stiles with it as he stumbles backwards and away from the bed, where Vega’s body is arching off the mattress, mouth twisted into a silent scream and eyes wide open. The heart monitor is beeping like crazy and her breaths come in huge, panting gasps. She slumps back down not a second later, eyes closed again and breathing evening out, but it takes a moment until the peeping dies down to a more normal pace. She’s not awake, but- 

 

Melissa is at her side in an instant, checking her over. Lydia and Ethan are both incredibly tense, Ethan is growling at Stiles and Lydia looks betrayed, but neither of them move. Stiles is slowly getting up again, shaking his head because this shouldn’t be happening, right? He hadn’t-

 

Melissa leans back and says, “She’s sleeping. Stiles, I have no idea what you just did but she’s not in a coma anymore. She should wake up naturally within the day.”

 

Stiles folds into himself at the words. It worked. It worked! He did it! 

 

“I did it?,” he asks, still out of breath and shaking. “I- I really. I did it?  That was absolutely terrifying, but it worked!” He laughs, breathless and light and disbelieving but the woman on the hospital bed is alive and she’s going to be fine and this feels like the first thing Stiles has done right in months.

 

He sinks to the floor again, next to the chair he knocked over, watching Melissa adjust medication and update the patient's file. She should probably be paging a doctor right about now, but Stiles still has to repeat this process four times before she can call on anyone who would kick them out.

 

There is a hand on his shoulder suddenly and he startles, but it’s just Lydia who’s smiling at him for a brief moment and then hurls him up. Here is something like pride and hope in here eyes and an apology that she will never voice and Stiles doesn’t need to hear. “Come on,” she says. “You’ve got work to do.”

 

“Yeah. Looks like I do.”

 

**~*~**

 

The next two patients share a room. Stiles still insists on working on the people he doesn’t know first, saying that, as he doesn’t know them, or how their minds work, they will be harder to wake. Now that he’s managed it with one, he wants to finish the harder part first. It’s mostly true and goes well enough. 

 

Alexander Walters turns out to be most afraid of drowning, being chased and his ex-wife. Which turns into an interesting but horrifying combined illusion of him being stuck in an endlessly tall building, that is constantly filling up with water. The man is running through corridors always looking for a way further up to escape the rising tide, when Stiles finds him and in the few minutes he needs the man to stand still so he can do what needs to be done, they almost get themselves eaten by a shark-shaped Melinda Walters. It’s overall not a very pleasant experience, but he and Mr Walters get out of it mostly unscratched only a little traumatized.

 

Ian Archer is arachnophobic and Stiles will never, in his entire life, talk about what he saw in that man’s mind and instead plans to spend the rest of it trying to forget. 

 

What he will never want to forget is the collective breath of relief that goes through the waiting room when Melissa tells the others that it’s working. Scott’s smile might as well outshine the sun and even Isaac and Chris look a little more than tentatively hopeful at the news. There are hugs and someone slaps his back at some point. Probably Malia. 

 

Finally he finds himself standing in Allison and Aiden’s room. Melissa is with him again and so is Ethan, but Lydia, now satisfied that he’s actually helping, has made space for Isaac and Scott. None of them protest when he sits down next to Aiden first.

 

“Just out of curiosity, what’s Aiden’s worst fear?” He poses the question at Ethan and he keeps his voice casual, if barely. A preschool teacher, a nurse and a banker had been bad enough. Stiles can only imagine what sort of fears someone like Aiden must have collected in his life.

 

Ethan just laughs bitterly and shakes his head. 

 

_ ‘Well,’  _ Stiles thinks.  _ ‘That’s not ominous at all.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How come these things always get longer than I thought they would? This chapter was 12k words before I decided that's too long. So Allison and Aiden got relegated to chapter 10 which is now a thing that exists, apparently, and should be out within the next few weeks. (Will this fic ever end? I'm not so sure anymore.)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are some reunions and rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I would apologise for the month of almost radio silence but I was busy af. ~~[I wrote this one shot in between everything tho so if you want to, there's some Nogitsune!Scott for you.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15748305) ~~ We are though, almost at the end of this story now. The epilogue is all that's missing. Please enjoy the last chapter of what has been a journey of over a year for me now. Thank you for sticking around until the end.

**~*~**

**Aiden**

  
  


He doesn’t know how long it’s been. The blood on his hands is still wet, sticky and bright red. It’s still fresh, so it can’t have been long, right? It feels like ages have past already. The iron smell of blood is clogging his nose and his eyes are burning - red like his hands, red like the ground, like Ethan’s blood and oh god please, no. No.

 

He didn’t mean to do it. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t! But he did it and there is no going back now. Wolves can heal, but they can’t heal death. No one can. No one and now Ethan is dead and his blood is on Aidens hands, his face, all over him and he can’t move. His breaths are coming in short, desperate gasps that don’t get enough air into his lungs.

 

They were meant to kill the pack, the two of them together. They were meant to become alphas and get revenge for a lifetime of abuse, of being made omega when they should have been betas. Their pack was cruel - build on cruelty and anger and Aiden still remembers when they both used to  _ not  _ cry themselves to sleep, with claw and teeth marks all over them, because they  _ weren’t that weak, shut up or they’ll come back! _ The marks were gone by morning every time. They would be back by evening, always.

 

Never again, it was never going to happen again.

 

He supposes it won’t now. They did kill the pack, did as Deucalion told them. They had tricked the alpha and once he was dead, had let the bloodlust do the rest. They shouldn’t have listened - he shouldn’t have listened. The bloodlust was too much, too strong together with the new power of being alpha, and now his teeth and claws are stained with his brother’s blood.

 

His pack is dead.

 

His brother is dead as well.

 

He’s an alpha now.

 

A lone alpha with no pack, with no family, with no allies. He’s alone.

 

He’s not alone. Deucalion is standing over him. When did he get here? Does it matter? Maybe he's here to help. He'd promised after all, promised them a place by his side, in his pack as alphas of their own. He'd promised they wouldn't have to be afraid anymore. 

 

But even Deucalion cannot break the icy web of despair that traps him, has him frozen and unmoving in a field of blood and corpses. 

 

Too late Aiden realizes that the man isn’t there to help. 

 

“Well would you look at that.” the voice is velvet soft and mocking. “All this power you have now and yet you can’t even stand up. What kind of an alpha are you supposed to be?” 

 

He hears something rustling next to him, like paws on wet leaves and the voice gets closer. Aiden presses his eyes closed, but he just sees more red. He tries to cover his ears, but Deucalion’s voice only gets louder. 

 

“Oh, I see. Did you lose control? When that’s to be expected I guess, from someone like you. Killing is what you do after all. It’s all you’re good for.”

 

“Shut up,” he breathes, hands still clamped over his ears. He doesn’t want to hear it. Isn’t it enough that Ethan is-? That he- But of course the voice doesn’t stop.

 

“This is all there will ever be for you, you know? You killed your brother and your pack for me, but you already know I don't care, don't you? You will never have a real pack, especially now, You will never feel true pack bond in your life. You're an Alpha and an Omega at the same time, still nothing but a helpless bitch.” 

 

“Shut up!” This time he manages more than a whisper but still, but again the voice only growls louder.

 

“I took you in because I saw what a good little attack dog you'd be for me, and you jumped at the offer like an obedient puppy. But you will stay, even if you must know by now that I don't care. You'll always stay, even no matter what I do to you because you are too afraid of being alone to lift a finger against me. You have nothing else. And you never will.”

 

“SHUT UP!” He jumps up and tears his claws through Deucalion’s face and screams in the same second as blood bursts from identical gashes across his own face. Deucalion fades away like a mirage only to reappear again seconds later in a slightly different place, taller and stronger than he was, towering over him like giant with no less poisonous words than before. Aiden is curled up on the ground, hands covering his face as it bleeds, but even now he cannot drown out the voice that has now swelled to a deafening boom.

 

“Aiden! Don't listen to him.” A new voice. Aiden’s hands fly from his face and his head shoots up, looking around for the newcomer. He’s already healing but it’s hard to see through the haze of blood red over his eyes. Then he sees him. There is someone kneeling next to Ethan’s body. Aiden growls to chase them off, the newcomer and Deucalion both. Neither of them let themselves be moved.

 

“Stop with the growling, I’m here to help.” He's moving closer, slowly but of course Aiden won't stop growling. He doesn't know who that is, besides that it's someone new. New people can't be trusted, he’s learned that by now. 

 

“God, this must have happened years before we met. Do you even know who I am right now?” the stranger asks and it only makes him more confusing. Deucalion is still roaring poisoned truths in his ear and the overlay of voices only angers him more. 

 

“Great. Of course you don't. That would have been too easy. Also why can’t these dreams ever be quiet?” The stranger is getting closer again and Aiden snarls. He doesn’t want him anywhere near him, but if it means he’s moving away from Ethan-

 

“Look can you at least tell me if you understand what I’m saying?” comes the question at the same time as Deucalion hisses “Not even your own brother was safe from you, how do you expect to live a normal life? You can’t and you know it. This is all you have.  _ I  _ am all you have! I  _ own you! _ ”

 

Aiden nods and he’s not sure who he’s agreeing to with that gesture. The stranger seems to take it as permission to come even closer. The fact that he’s holding his hands up in a general ‘I’m unarmed, I mean no harm’ gesture is obviously meant to make Aiden relax and therefore only makes him more tense. He knows the dangers of false security.

 

He stops, close enough to touch without actually touching. “He’s lying to you, Aiden. Deucalion is lying to you. It’s what he does best. It’s the only thing he’s really good at. He’s lying to you so you’ll feel small and weak and helpless and then he’ll make himself your only option. Don’t let him do that to you. Don’t let him trap you here. Please, let me help you wake up.”

 

Wake up? What does he mean? He  _ is _ awake! That’s the problem! And now that the stranger is so close Aiden thinks he recognises the face. It’s Stiles. He knows him. He and Ethan met him in Beacon Hills, but that can’t be right because Ethan is dead and they have never been to Beacon Hills.

 

...Then why does he know that name?

 

“Stiles?”

 

There’s a sigh of relief. “Yeah. Yes, yes! Stiles. That’s me! I’m Stiles. You remember? Look, Aiden, I know you have no reason to trust me right now but all of this? It’s an illusion. Nothing here is real. You’re in a hospital in Beacon Hills and you need to wake up. Ethan’s been worried sick about you and he might actually rip my throat out if I don’t get you home soon so…”

 

“Ethan? But he’s-” he glances over at the body. It’s been the only thing he could see clearly ever since this all started.

 

The stranger that might be called Stiles shakes his head vehemently. “He’s not, okay? He’s not. He’s alive and he’s fine and waiting for you. This isn’t real, Aiden. It’s an illusion and you need to wake up now, but to do that you need to let me touch you so that I can help. Can you do that?”

 

It seems too good to be true, and Aiden knows that if it does, it most probably is but really, is there anything worse that could happen to him now? He can’t think of anything. So he nods, cautiously and extends his hand just as cautiously. Deucalion is screaming “You really think I would let you leave you fol-” 

 

Stiles grabs his hand and the voice falls silent mid-word.

  
  


**~*~**

**Allison**

  
  


_ ‘Kate is supposed to be dead.’  _ is one of the few thoughts that penetrate through the haze of terror and fury that surrounds Allison like fog. Her aunt had been killed by Peter. He'd ripped her throat out with his claws and left her to bleed out on the floor of the house she’d burned him and his family in. To him, maybe even to Derek, it must have felt like justice. To Allison, it still feels like a betrayal.

 

Not by Peter - no one had ever expected anything else from him. Despite his secretive tendencies, he'd always been rather clear about his intentions. 

 

But how could Kate - fun loving, rules-are-for-boring-people Kate - be the person Allison knows her to be now? A person who would burn innocent children in their home. It didn’t fit with the picture of the kind, quirky aunt Allison had always seen. And then it fit all too well when Allison had looked in the mirror and seen what Gerard had made out of her.

 

People like to think themselves too smart to be manipulated. They might think it can never happen to them, that they would see through it. They expect manipulations to be like what happens in Shakespeare’s plays and on television. Ham fisted and obvious, easy to see through for the audience. ‘How could you have been so stupid and trust that obviously untrustworthy person?’ they think and laugh. 

 

Allison had thought the same until she found herself with a bow in hand and a dozen arrows sticking out the people she should have called friends. 

 

She hated the thought of becoming a second Kate, has been afraid and second guessing herself ever since, but Gerard had been convincing. It hadn’t taken much more than the one lie, that Derek had killed her mother unprovoked. God it had been so easy to turn her into something she never wanted to be again.

 

Kate is supposed to be dead, but she lives on within Allison every day. It’s just the Nogitsune instead of her grandfather who is forcing her hand now.

 

She came here to save Lydia, she remembers that. How could she now when she can hear her scream out Allison’s name in the distance ever so often?

 

All around here are - things. She’s not sure what they are. She would assume they were Oni, but their eyes are glowing in all the colors of the rainbow instead of only yellow, and then some and they’re growling - getting closer. She has her bow and her silver tipped arrows, but it’s dark and she cannot see which of the shapes around her is a friend, a tree, an enemy. Something moves towards her - fast and she reacts before her brain catches up. The arrow sings through the air and hits the target dead center. Red eyes blink up at her and then fade back to dark brown. 

 

“Why, Allison?” says Scott with a rattling breath. The blood on his lips is as red as his eyes had just been. He falls, and Allison falls with him, sinks to the ground next to him with tears in her eyes and a wail of despair stuck in her throat. She holds him up, cradling his head in her lap and whispering apologies over and over until she hears another of Lydia’s screams and looks up, which is when Scott’s body dissolves into nothing. 

 

A few moments later she is on her feet again, has blinked away the tears, unsure if it ever really happened at all.

 

She keeps searching, keeps hunting. Sometimes she’s in the forest, sometimes in the school, sometimes in an empty parking lot. Sometimes the things she shoots are Oni or other monsters, sometimes they are her friends, sometimes they are both. 

 

She can hear Lydia scream from far away every once in a while, but she never gets any closer to her voice. She has to find her, she keeps reminding herself, has to save her and when she does they can go home. They’ll be safe and at the next possible opportunity Allison will sit her down and force a taser and some self defence lessons on her because Lydia Martin might be perfect, but she’s not untouchable and Allison will make sure that she can defend herself should something like this happen again.

 

She hears another scream from what seems to be even further away, and when she turns the next pair of eyes that stare at her are silver. 

 

Finally!

 

It looks like Stiles, but she knows it’s not. This is the Nogitsune, the thing that took Lydia and maybe if she kills him she can finally find her friend and save her. 

 

The Fox doesn’t come any closer, but she doesn’t need it to. She has an arrow nocked and drawn in a second but when she lets it fly he’s gone. “Hey Allison? Any chance you’d put the bow down and we do this the easy way?” comes Stiles’ voice from behind her and she turns and shoots without even processing the words. She knows he’ll try to trick her. He’s done it to everyone else.

 

“Yeah, I thought not.” Another arrow shot and dodged. He is much faster than Stiles had ever been. It’s frustrating but part of her enjoys it - enjoys the hunt of something that would actually pose a challenge. Are these her own thoughts or is this Gerard speaking? Is she channeling Kate? 

 

She shoots again, another miss. He’s quick on his feet and quicker in his reflexes, ducking and rolling out of the way as Allison pursues. She’d been excited at first, but as the chase goes on she’s growing more and more frustrated. If she could just end this, if she could only land one hit  _ just once. _ Lydia screams in the distance again, another arrow misses its mark and Allison snaps.

 

“What have you done with her?!” She screams at the Nogitsune’s retreating back. He stops and turns to her, expression thunderous. 

 

She lets another arrow loose and this time he doesn’t even bother to dodge. He grabs the arrow right out of the air and then throws it at her feet.

 

“You know what? I’ve had it!” he says, stalking towards her, moving so fast that she can’t draw another arrow before her bow is ripped out of her hands and thrown away from the both of them. “I’ve had to deal with almost dying, with crazy thunderstorms and ex-wife sharks and fucking car sized spiders! I almost fell to my death, almost drowned, and almost got eaten, all of that today. I now know things about Aiden’s abandonment issues that I’m sure no one, including me, ever wanted me to now about. And now I’ve got you chasing me with arrows when we should be working together! Right now I don’t care whether your greatest fear is not saving Lydia or becoming Kate or accidentally killing an innocent or something else because none of this is real, none of this is really happening, do you understand me? And I need you to trust me for five seconds so we can get out of this nightmare, because we all fucking miss you, okay? Lydia has been beside herself for two months, your dad’s not eating, Scott’s been going up the walls and if I have to see Isaac’s kicked puppy expression one more time, I might do something and then he’ll figure out I don’t actually mind him as much as I pretend to. So please. Allison. Please just let me help.”

 

More than half of that rant makes no sense to her and in the end that is probably what convinces her that this is actually Stiles rather than a fox wearing his face. She’s still wary though, because she knows Stiles wouldn’t lie to her but he’s exceptional at keeping secrets, telling half-truths, but she’s sure that last time she saw him he was human and now his eyes are still silver.

 

She straightens her back, head held high and says, “Prove it.” 

 

Stiles stops, blinks at her like that’s the last thing he expected her to say, tilts his head. “Prove what?”

 

There is so much she needs reassurance and proof for. Blind trust is something she unlearned the hard way. “Prove that you’re not the Nogitsune, and that Lydia is safe.”

 

His eyes go wide at her words and he rubs a hand over his forehead, through his hair and then squeezes his neck. It’s such a Stiles-like gesture. 

 

He closes his eyes for a brief moment as if pained, then shakes his head. “I can’t prove that I’m not possessed. You know that you can’t prove a negative, but I can take you to Lydia and you can see for yourself how fine or not fine she is. How does that sound.” 

 

Before she has made up her mind, there is another scream and Stiles flinches with her when they hear it. She whirls around. “Lydia!” 

 

But she is met with silence and a hand on her arm. “It’s not real, Allison. I promise you, Lydia is fine. You know I would never lie about that, right?”

 

She knows Stiles wouldn’t but she’s still not convinced that that’s who she’s talking to. On the other hand, she’s so weary of being terrified and the promise of safety, while it does sound too good to be true after… however long it’s been that she’s been fighting here, is too tempting to dismiss. 

 

Slowly she walks over to where he threw her bow and picks it up. She stares down at it while she makes her decision. “Alright. Take me to her.”

 

If he’s lying, she can still kill him later.

 

“Give me your hand.” he says. She does. She hesitates, but she does do it eventually when Stiles makes no move towards her and waits patiently for her to come to him.

 

When their hands touch she starts feeling lighter, a crushing weight lifting off of her shoulders. “Close your eyes.” he says and she does, relaxing into the floaty numbness that is the total and utter absence of fear. She doesn’t notice her surroundings falling away, how everything in her dream space first turns gray, then blindingly white. 

 

When she opens her eyes next she feels incredibly weak and drowsy like she slept for a month. It doesn’t matter though because Lydia and Isaac are each holding one of her hands and her father is standing next to her bed with tears and a smile on his face.  

 

Whatever dream she had is already fading from her mind. 

  
  


**~*~**

**Scott**

  
  


The first of the five people Stiles works on to wake up, is Aiden. This surprises exactly no one, as he’s the only werewolf out of them all. Accelerated healing does have its perks. 

 

As the twins reunite, Scott stands aside and watches. Ethan and Aiden cling to each other like they are afraid one of them might vanish. The whispered conversation between them is so quiet that Scott can't hear it, but he doesn't really need to. He can guess what it is they’re saying by the cadence of their voices. 

 

The brothers don't let go of each other for a long time. When they finally, do both their faces are wet, but there are identical smiles on them. 

 

Now that Ethan has stepped back a fraction, there is enough space for Scott's mum to move in. She gets to work, checking on Aiden's vitals, his pupil reaction, and overall awareness.

 

“How are you feeling?” Scott asks.

 

“Still groggy, but not terrible,” is all the answer he gets before his mum takes over, asking Aiden if he knows where he is ( _ “hospital”) _ , who the president is ( _ “What makes you think I care?”)  _ and to solve some basic math problems ( _ “What does it take to get me out of calculus, if almost dying isn't enough?” “Answer the question.” “23.”). _

 

“You’re going to be just fine. You’ll have to stay overnight for observation, as I’m sure the doctor will tell you, too, once I actually call him, but if there are no further complications you could be released in the next few days Maybe even tomorrow.”

 

Aiden nods. Ethan balls his fists and then visibly makes himself relax. Leaving his brother overnight obviously doesn’t appeal to him, Scott thinks and goes on to scour his brain for a way to not have that happen. He comes up blank. There is, however, one other thing he’d like to talk to the twins about. 

 

Once his mother is satisfied and has moved on to watching Stiles work on Allison, Scott goes over to the bed where the twins are now alone. “I wanted to thank you, both of you, for… everything really. You helped us when you didn’t have to and it ended here. Just- I’m grateful and I wanted you to know that, is all.”

 

Aiden and Ethan exchange a long, indecipherable look, then Aiden answers. “It was a stupid thing to do, risking our lives like that.”

 

Scott winces, but doesn’t disagree. “Yeah,” he admits. “It was, a bit. But I’m still grateful.”

 

“You would have done the same for us.” Ethan’s voice is even when he says it, but there is a hint of uncertainty there that pains Scott to hear.

 

“I would have,” he reassures and then pauses. Appraising the two of them, taking their measure and finally deciding. “If you still want it,” he begins, hesitating. “I’d like to offer you a place in my pack. It will be different from what you’re used to, but-” but they earned it, is what he doesn’t say. They’d earned it quite a few times over and if he could accept Stiles with all his darkness and good intentions then he really had no excuse anymore to turn the twins away.

 

Not that he wanted to, not anymore. 

 

He has no illusions about these two. They have killed people. They have tried to kill, or at the very least hurt, people Scott cares deeply about. He hasn’t forgiven that, isn’t sure he ever truly will. On the flip side, Scott knows how convincing Deucalion could be and while the twins haven’t exactly shown regret, they have proven themselves willing to change, to work within Scott’s rules, all the same.

 

“Are you serious?” Ethan is staring at him with something in between mild annoyance, utter bewilderment and an emotion that Scott hopes he isn’t too optimistic in interpreting as glee.

 

“I am. Yeah.” He nods in emphasis. 

 

Ethan opens his mouth, but when Aiden lays a hand on his arm he turns away from Scott. He watches them and their silent communication until they seem to come to a decision. 

 

“We’ll get back to you on that,” says Aiden “We’ll have to think about it.”

 

Belatedly it occurs to Scott that this might not have been the best time to bring the topic up, but he has been sitting on this invitation for a while. He just hadn’t wanted to approach only Ethan about it. It would have been unfair, not to mention that it felt wrong.

 

Slightly embarrassed, he nods again. “Take all the time you need.” 

 

While he is busy with the twins, Stiles works on Allison. Scott had watched him when he had done the same for Aiden, but opted not to the second time. If he’s perfectly honest with himself, it disturbs him a little. Stiles with one hand on Allison’s forehead, eye wide open, unblinking and completely silver; no pupil or scalea left under the unnatural shine. 

 

The worst part is yet to come. It had been terrible, seeing Aiden convulsing on the hospital bed and Stiles slumped over on the chair next to him, his entire body tense and trembling. 

 

Stiles had warned him that it would happen, but that hadn’t made watching it any easier. Neither for him, nor for Ethan. Thankfully it hadn’t lasted long.

 

He hears a sharp intake of breath from the other bed and knows Stiles must be done. Scott thought he didn’t want to see this but his eyes are glued to the bed where Allison twists and turns, arching off the bed and gasping for air. 

 

When it’s over and Allison is sleeping peacefully, his mom calls in Mr Argent, Isaac and Lydia. She explains to them that, like the other none wolves, Allison will wake up within the next few hours. As Scott watched he sees the tension drain out of Mr Argent, and Isaac goes so far as to hug Lydia in excitement, for which he then immediately apologises.

 

Lydia, for her part, boots Stiles out of the hospital chair he’s still sprawled in, by dragging him up and into a fierce hug of her own. He thinks he hears her muttering something into Stiles’ ear, but it’s too low for him to make out the words. Then she pushes him towards Scott and sinks down on the uncomfortable plastic, taking Allison's hand and squeezing it like her life depended on the connection. She doesn’t say a word 

 

Stiles shivers once he’s released and then stumbles over to Scott and almost collapses against him. Scott catches him, holds him up easily, but when he looks at Stiles it’s not exhaustion he sees, it’s the opposite. Stiles is vibrating with too much energy. Where that’s coming from, Scott has no idea. He himself is exhausted after the day they had, but Stiles shakes like he took too much Adderall and ate a pound of sugar on top of it. 

 

“Stiles?” he asks, concerned. 

 

“I’ll be fine,” he says too quickly, and looking the exact opposite of fine. “Probably,” he amends after a pause, smiling strangely detached. He’s slurring a little and seems almost drunk or maybe high. It kind of reminds Scott of the time Stiles dragged him and a bottle of whiskey out into the preserve in the middle of the night. Back when Allison and him had taken a break, and they found out that Stiles has no alcohol tolerance and Scott has too much. 

 

Stiles giggles softly and a few sparks rain out of his mouth. He looks at them in fascination as they sink to the floor an sizzle out, then looks back up at Scott, still giggling. “Okay, maybe I’m kind of a bit supercharged at the moment. It’ll… It’ll pass.” He hiccups and the lights flicker dangerously. 

 

As one, the other occupants of the room turn towards them, anxious. 

 

Scott feels torn. Looking over at the bed where Allison is still sleeping, then to Lydia and Isaac he feels a tightness in his throat. He wants to be there when Allison wakes up. He’s missed her just as much as everyone else in this room has, but she’s in good hands and Stiles can’t stay here in this state.

 

“I’m taking you home. You can sleep off your whatever this is- “ another hiccup, and this time one of the overhead lights makes a sound that it’s definitely not supposed to be making -“and we can come back and visit Allison tomorrow, yeah?”

 

“If you say so.” Stiles let’s Scott lead him out of the room an into the waiting area without complaint. This weirdly pliable, giggly Stiles is new and Scott would enjoy teasing him about it, if he wasn't concerned that Stiles might accidentally shoot out the power for the entire hospital. Which, Scott realises, he could actually do now. God help them.

 

Out in the corridor, the sheriff takes one look at them, stumbling through the door as they are, Scott supporting more of Stiles’ weight than Stiles does himself, and he’s off his chair and at their side in a second. “What happened?” he snaps, almost more angry than concerned. Scott gets it. He’s tired of seeing Stiles hurt as well.

 

Shrugging the one shoulder Stiles is not currently hanging off of, he replies. “I’m not sure? He seemed fine until the end, but now he’s-” Stiles doesn’t even visibly do anything this time, but the lights in the entire hallway flicker at once -”Like this,” Scott finishes helplessly. 

 

“Stiles? Son, can you hear me?” the sheriff asks. He lays a hand on Stiles’ arm, trying to get his attention, jerks back a second later, like he got shocked. 

 

Scott, who has received a shock from Stiles for the time he has been using him as a crutch, just half-shrugs again while Stiles mumbles an almost unintelligible “Sorry” into his collar bone.

 

“I’m taking him home. We’ll see if he can just sleep it off. He said something about being supercharged and that it would go away on its own? I don’t know. I don’t think it’s dangerous for him, but he probably shouldn’t stay here.” Stiles groans and from down the hall Scott hears the unmistakable sound of something fragile breaking. He winces. Hopefully that wasn’t anything important.

 

“I fixed it, Dad, you know? I fixed it. It was terrible and terrifying and- and tempting, but I did it! They’ll be fine and they won’t remember anything about their nightmares, either. I made sure. Super, duper, extra sure. I finally did something right.” There is a dopey smile on Stiles’ face even as the color drains from the sheriff’s. Scott probably doesn’t look any different. What nightmares? 

 

The sheriff looks at Scott with wide eyes and Scott knows for a fact that Stiles would have never be this uncensored in front of his dad if he were in his right mind.

 

“That- That’s really good Stiles,” he says, obviously pained, but Stiles doesn’t seem to notice. “Maybe you should let Scott take you home now, hm? What do you say?”

 

“Sure, yeah. I’ll go home with Scotty. I like Scotty.” he says, then frowns. “But what about you?”

 

Despite his still obvious concern, the sheriff smiles at that. “Oh, I know you do, Stiles,” he shakes his head with fondness. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you two holding hands all the time since you came back. Just get home safe. I just need to ask Melissa a few things but I’ll be there with you soon.” 

 

He lays a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and squeezes once - this time there is no flinching - then he turns to Scott. “Take care of him. I’ll follow right after you two.”

 

**~*~**

 

He takes Stiles home, earning himself more than a few weird looks while he’s half helping, half dragging him through the hospital, across the parking lot and into Stiles’ jeep. It’s not until they’re both inside that Scott remembers he left the keys at home, but at a glance from Stiles the engine roars to life. 

 

“Dude, did you just hotwire your car… without touching it?” 

 

Stiles’ unimpressed expression lasts for less than three seconds before his next fit of giggles destroys the effect. “I’m sitting in it, Scotty. I’d hardly call that ‘not touching’.” 

 

Scott just stares at him, slowly realising all the possibilities that Stiles’ new abilities open up for them, and that not all of them have to be dangerous. He grins. “That is, without a doubt, one of the coolest things you’ve done all day.” 

 

“I fooled everyone, up to and including the weather service, into thinking there was a snow storm over Beacon County, and you’re impressed by me acting as a glorified spark plug? I don’t believe you.” Stiles shakes his head, slurring less than he was earlier, but still enough that Scott has to concentrate to understand what he’s saying. He seems a little more aware again, no longer babbling as much. Scott hadn’t expected Stiles to recover this quickly, but he’s not going to complain. 

 

“Yeah well. I can’t admit I’m impressed by that since you used it against me. Can’t let you think that that’s in any way acceptable now, can I?”

 

Stiles hums thoughtfully, as Scott pulls out of the parking lot. “You just admitted it anyway, you realise that, right?

 

“I guess that’s true,” Scott says. “I'll just have to remind you then, looks like.” He’s not actually all that concerned. 

 

At Stiles’ noncommittal hum, Scott takes his eyes off the road and glances at him. Stiles is slumped on the passenger seat, a happy grin still plastered on his face and hiccuping the occasional spark.

 

Scott has to bite his tongue to keep himself from blurting out what he’s thinking, before he remembers that he’s allowed to say these things now. “I love you.”

 

Stiles smile goes from content and dopey to a brilliant, shining thing that Scott isn’t sure he’s ever seen before. It’s mesmerizing and right now he’s really grateful for his werewolf senses that keep them from driving straight off the road because Scott couldn’t turn his eyes away if he tried. It’s been ages since he’s seen Stiles this happy and unburdened. 

 

He’s still smiling when he replies with an almost clear “Love you too” and Scott knows that by then the grin on his own face must match that on Stiles. “Now take me home, you sap, before I accidentally blow something up, will you?” 

 

Stiles does accidentally blow out a traffic light and more than a few street lamps on the way, but they get there in one piece. Eventually. By the time they arrive at Stiles’ home, Scott’s cheeks are hurting but he can’t stop smiling either way.

 

**~*~**

 

True to his word, the sheriff walks through the front door not long after they get there. They are sitting on the couch by then, or Scott is at least.

 

Stiles is pacing in front of the TV, wringing his hands, running them through his hair ever so often. By now Scott can’t tell if it’s sticking up in all directions because of that, or because of the static. Now that all else around them is silent, Scott can hear a faint humm like electricity coming from Stiles. Kira has it too, though hers is louder and Scott might be imagining it but with Stiles it sounds vaguely more threatening. As much as humming can sound threatening. Scott really needs to sleep.

 

The sound of the door makes Stiles stop short, but Scott can’t bring himself to sit up. The most he can manage is to pry one eye open and watch as the sheriff strides across the room as fast as he can without actually running and pulls Stiles in a fierce hug. 

 

“Dad, I’m fine. Sorry you had to see that. I was just… a bit overwhelmed I guess. Too much input and too much- Just too much. But I’m okay now. Really.” 

 

“In that case,  _ what the hell were you thinking?!”  _ Scott jumps at the sudden increase of the noise level around him, and promptly falls off the couch. Neither Stiles nor the sheriff seem to notice. 

 

_ “Do you have any idea how worried I was?!” _

 

“Umm…” 

 

“You just up and vanish in the middle of the night and then you have the nerve to tell me not to worry?! What exactly did you think I would do? Stick my fingers in my ears and sing ‘La la la’ until you got back?  _ If _ you’d even get back!”

 

“I didn’t,” and wow it’s been a while since Scott has seen Stiles this contrite. “I didn’t think you would, but dad-”

 

But the sheriff obviously isn’t done yet. “No, you didn’t think, did you?” He looks pained, brows furrowed and lips drawn into a thin line. “This can’t go on, Stiles. You can’t keep vanishing on me, on everyone. God knows I’m in over my head with all this supernatural stuff but you-” he trails off. Scott is starting to feel rather uncomfortable. This is a private moment and he knows he shouldn’t be witnessing it, especially since both Stiles and his dad seem to have forgotten he exists.

 

“I just wanted you to be safe. I didn’t want to involve you in this any more than necessary,” Stiles says feebly and Scott winces from his place behind the couch table because that, while honest, has got to be the worst possible thing to say.

 

“And since when do you get to decide what I do and do not need to be bothered with, Stiles?” The sheriff spits. “You’re  _ my son.  _ I’m  _ your father.  _ I’m the parent here! It’s my job to look out for you, not the other way around!”

 

Stiles is stunned silent for a few seconds before Scott sees his eyes narrow dangerously and that is when he decides that enough is enough.

 

“Stop it! Both of you.” They both whirl around to face him, suddenly aware of him again. They both have identical expressions of sheepishness on their faces and Scott has to bite his lip not to laugh. 

 

“Stiles, your dad is right and you know it,” he says, trying to sound as firm as he can while almost falling asleep. “We can’t keep keeping secrets. None of us can afford that anymore. We trust each other, but that’s going to be hard to keep up if you keep us at arm length all the time. Let us help. Even if he can’t, at least keep him informed. You want him not to worry, but you’ll only make him worry more by keeping him in the dark. Believe me, I’ve been through all of this with my mom already.”

 

Stiles is starting to glare at him, but Scott shakes his head to cut off his protest. He isn’t finished yet. “And sheriff, there are some things that none of us ever wanted to drag you into. There’s a reason why we kept all the supernatural secret from you for so long and it’s not because we thought you wouldn’t believe us. This world is dangerous and now Stiles is more of a part of it than ever. You didn’t have to be a part of it, and as long as you weren’t, you were somewhat protected. You know Stiles didn’t leave to make you worry. Everyone with eyes knows he wouldn’t leave here if he thought he had a choice. So can you two please stop fighting now because it’s been a really long day and I’m dead on my feet. I just want to go to bed and I can’t sleep if you two are shouting at each other.” 

 

He ends his rant with a frustrated huff that turns into a yawn partway through. There is another beat of silence, then the sheriff laughs. “How come he makes more sense than either of us, even when half asleep?”

 

“Because he’s Scott.” Stiles’ smiles, full of fondness and something else. Scott wonders how he missed this before but Stiles puts his love in every gesture, every look, everything he does. Or maybe he’d held back as much as Scott had before? Well no more. Scott has years of bottled up love to shower Stiles with, and no reason to keep it bottled anymore. They hold eye contact for a few more moments before Stiles turns back to his dad.

 

“Alright, how about this? I can’t promise I’ll always tell you everything. Sometimes I won’t have the time to call. Sometimes something else might get in the way. Sometimes you might actually be safer not knowing everything. But I can promise to tell you as much as I’m able, if you promise to trust me as far as you’re able. Does that sound fair?”

 

“It sounds like the best deal I’m likely to get in anycase.” The sheriff doesn’t seem completely happy, but Scott hadn’t expected him to be and he’s sure that Stiles hadn’t either. Depending on what Stiles thinks is ‘relevant information’ can’t be very comforting. “Chances of renegotiation in the morning?”

 

“Slim, but we’ll see.” 

 

The sheriff just sighs. “Up you go then, boys. Get some sleep. And Stiles?”   
  


“Yeah?”

 

“It’s good to have you back, son.”

 

“It’s good to be back, dad.”

 

**~*~**

 

It has been less than forty-eight hours since Scott has last been in Stiles’ room, but it feels like weeks have past since. The bedsheets are still rumpled the same way they were when they left yesterday morning, unmoved and untouched since then. It feels like there should be a thick layer of dust covering everything. Being here now feels like coming home, because it is, but it also feels strange. The one who made this place a home - Stiles - isn't quite the same anymore. 

 

On the other hand, Stiles looks like he just stepped into a past life and isn't quite sure yet whether or not he likes it. He walks into the room, brushing fingertips against knicknacks on his shelves and drumming them along the top of his desk as he walks by. 

 

The smile on his face looks more melancholy than happy and Scott takes his hand and drags him over to the bed before Stiles can sink too far back into his thoughts.

 

They both fall backwards onto the mattress, lying next to each other and staring up in silence for a few minutes. On the ceiling, the overhead light is flickering, even though neither of them bothered to turn it on when they came in.

 

“So today was crazy.”

 

Stiles snorts. “Understatement of the year.” 

 

Scott rolls over to face him. “But it turned out alright, didn’t it? Allison and Aiden are going to be fine.  _ You _ are going to be fine. No one is keeping any secrets anymore. Noshiko stopped trying to kill you.”

 

“You do know that if someone was actually keeping a secret, you wouldn’t know about it, right? That's kinda how secrets work.” 

 

“Shhh, let me have my delusion for the rest of the night at least. And don’t let your dad hear that.”

 

Stiles laughs again, open and fond. “Fine. You’re right.” Then he bends forward, over the edge of the bed and starts untying his shoelaces. He toes off his shoes. They make a clattering sound on the hardwood when they fall.

 

The next few moments they spend in comfortable silence, but there is something that is still nagging at Scott. “What you said at the hospital… Nightmares?” 

 

Stiles winces, then sits up, turning so that Scott can’t see his face. “I was hoping you’d let that slide. I’m grateful that at least dad seems to have forgotten. If I tell you that it didn’t mean anything, and that I was just babbling, would you leave it alone?”

 

Scott shakes his head, but sits up as well. He doesn’t force Stiles to look at him, but he does lay an arm around his back. “I could pretend to believe you, but that’s not what you want, is it?”

 

Stiles sighs, leaning back into Scott’s side as he does so. “No. As you said, no more secrets. No more hiding. No more pretence. That goes both ways,” he says. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

 

“What did you actually do? Why was it only you who could wake them? And why were you... like that after?”

 

It’s obvious by the tilt of Stiles’ mouth and the frown on his face that he’d rather not talk about it and the silence between them stretches so long that Scott thinks that maybe he should have waited to ask. He’s just about to open his mouth and offer to have this conversation later when Stiles starts speaking.

 

“I never told any of you what was really trapping them in that state,” he admits. “I didn’t know for the longest time and when I remembered… you wouldn't have been able to do anything with that information. It would only have made things worse or so I told myself. Instead, I told you what you needed to know in order to hopefully find a cure and left out the rest. They-” Stiles swallow, still leaning against Scott he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he goes on. The warmth of Stiles’ body against his own is soothing, even if Stiles’ words promised to be anything but. 

 

It turns out he's not wrong. Stiles tells him about the curse and Scott is horrified to learn of this only  _ now _ after it’s already over. But they’ve been over the entire secrecy thing already and Scott is too tired to start another fight, so he lets is go. For now.

 

“To wake them I had to take every negative emotion they had that was fueling the curse. It was a lot. It gave me too much energy, hence my sparking all over the place after. I’m not used to controlling my powers yet.” He shrugs. “It’ll come in time. I hope.”

 

“Well I know at least one good thing that came out of this whole disaster.”

 

“Yeah? Do you mean our mutual unrestricted kissing access to each other?”

  
Scott rolls his eyes, but can’t help smiling. “Well, that certainly doesn’t hurt,” he says and presses a kiss to Stiles temple. “But I meant now I get to repay you for helping me figure out this whole werewolf thing.”

 

Stiles turns, looking mischievous. “So does that mean if I misbehave, you’ll tie me up? Kinky, but I prefer being the one to tie the knots if it’s all the same to you.”

 

Scott sputters as Stiles laughs.

 

“You’re ridiculous and I’m too tired to deal with you,” he says, falling back on the mattress again. “Get down here and cuddle me so we can sleep.”

 

“As my alpha commands.” Stiles agrees.

 

Whatever else may come, they can deal with it in the morning. With his head on Stiles’ chest and his steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep, Scott can’t think of anything they can’t face together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zines I'm currently working on that could really use some support if you're interested in the respective fandoms:
> 
> [Naruto History Zine](https://narutohistoryzine.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [Mixup no Jutsu Zine](https://mixupnojutsuzine.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [Plus Ultra Fashion Periodical](https://bnha-plus-ultra-fashion-zine.tumblr.com//)
> 
>  
> 
> [HP Marauders Zine](https://ksazines.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [Maze Runner Fanzine](https://mazerunnerzineblog.tumblr.com/)


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue - Three months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Throws this into the void and runs.*

**Epilogue**

**~*~**

**Stiles**

  
  


They more stumble than walk into the room. Scott slams the door shut behind him and it’s not a second later that Stiles finds himself pressed against it, one of Scott’s hands on his hip, the other in his hair, and his mouth on Stiles’ neck. Scott is eager today, more so than usual, not that his usual eagerness leaves anything to be desired. It’s not like their relationship has ever lacked intensity. 

 

Restraint is something Stiles has struggled with, and it is because of that that he lets his head fall back against the wood and lets out a moan that may have been a touch too loud to stay unnoticed. Letting up from giving him one of the worlds most obvious hickies, Scott sends him a halfhearted glare. “My mum is gonna be home soon.” 

 

Stiles pauses. “And that’s an issue?” Scott isn’t exactly being subtle either, hasn’t been before when they were downstairs, and it’s not that Melissa doesn’t know they’re dating. She has also been wholeheartedly supportive Stiles might add. Still, it would probably be better if she didn’t walk in on them, ever.

 

“At least Isaac is no longer staying across the hall.” Stiles adds in an attempt to lighten the mood. Isaac had moved in with Chris and Allison shortly after her release from the hospital. Lydia and Aiden are staying over at their place more often than not as well. Stiles has no idea who of them is dating who at this point and it might not really matter because Lydia at least thrives on the confusion their little group is causing everyone.

 

“Oh, shut up. I just don’t want her hearing us when we’re-” Scott breaks off, blushes and Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how cute Scott is when he blushes. It doesn’t happen that often. Color rarely shows on Scott’s darker skin, so when it does it always feels like an accomplishment.

 

“She’s not here yet, so I don’t see why you had to interrupt our- mhmpf!”

 

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, but with Scott’s mouth pressed against his he has no will left over to complain. It doesn’t stop him from lightly biting Scott’s lip in retaliation. Stiles Stilinski does not appreciate being shut up, even if it’s done with kisses and by his amazing boyfriend. He leaves Scott’s lips dark red and swollen, taking pride in the dazed expression on his face even if he knows he himself can’t look much different.

 

Even after three months of this, the novelty of being with Scott hasn’t quite worn off yet. They’ve been told that they are the type of couple that’s so obnoxiously in love you can’t even be mad at them for it. Isaac’s words. Stiles resents the accusation, but that hasn’t stopped him or Scott from public displays of affection whenever they can get away with them. And holy hell, Stiles had known Scott was affectionate, but now? They’ve been friends for twelve years, he’s seen how Scott was with Allison, but somehow it’s still unexpected every time Scott drags him somewhere just to kiss him. They hold hands where everyone can see, share kisses and embraces in the school parking lot. For all the secrets that both of them have to keep, they compensate with showing off what they are to each other at every given opportunity.

 

There has been a surprising lack of backlash. The pack has been in turns, supportive, happy, teasing, disbelieving at the fact that it took them so long, and indifferent. Kira had hugged Scott first, then Stiles and told both of them that she was happy for them. Malia had just stared at them a little, then nodded to herself and proclaimed that this was the only thing that made any sense in a long time around here. After that, she’d shared a meaningful look with the twins that Stiles hadn’t dared to try and unravel. The trio was getting along far too well for his comfort already, and in most cases he found that it was just better not to think about it at all. He thinks he may have spotted Malia and Aiden holding hands that one time and he still has no idea what he’ll do if they decide to destroy the world together.

 

Whatever Allison’s reaction had been had been kept between her and Scott. Though she smiles a lot more now than she did before that talk so Stiles isn’t worried. Lydia apparently had been running - and won - some type of school wide betting pool (Isaac just sighed and handed his money over.) The most fun of all had been Derek, who tried very hard to appear as if he did not care and failed miserably at the attempt.

 

All in all, Stiles is glad their pack and family are as supportive as they are, and even though Stiles’ breath no longer catches on every casual brush of Scott’s hands on his skin - freely given, out in the open, for the world to see - it still draws smiles from him every time. What before was just Scott being his extremely physical self, now implies intent. An intent that Stiles reciprocates. It’s a little ridiculous how in tune with each other they are, even more so now than they were before. Stiles loves it.

 

Scott’s smiles make Stiles’ heart swell in his ribcage. Recently Scott has been smiling a lot more than what could be considered healthy for Stiles’ blood pressure. He’s smiling right now, his entirely unfair sunshine smile that makes the room light up with the force of Scott’s happiness, so freely shared. It makes Stiles want drag him over to the bed and ravish him.

 

And because there is nothing stopping him, that is exactly what he does. He hooks his fingers into the belt loops of Scott’s jeans and lightly pushes, but mostly drags him until they both land on top of Scott’s blankets with a satisfying thump.

 

Beneath him and all stretched out as he is, Scott looks more like a large and lazy cat rather than the wolf Stiles knows him to be.

 

They’ve done things like this before. ‘Things’ including a lot of kissing, more or less awkward handjobs and that one incredible time when Scott had proposed oral sex and surprised Stiles with how skilled at it he was. Stiles has since returned the favor and they’ve found that, while Stiles has no idea what he’s doing, his oral fixation and subsequent enthusiasm make him an incredibly dedicated learner.

 

Something is different about today though, even if Stiles can’t put his finger on what it is yet. There is a nervousness beneath Scott’s enthusiasm, a new tension in the air, like they are on the brink of something so far undefined. Stiles feels it in Scott’s trembling hands, hear it in his shaky breaths and sees it in the way he watches him. It’s not hesitation, rather it’s something like uncertainty. Which is strange because there is nothing that Stiles is more certain of than Scott, and he had thought that it was the same the other way around.

 

“You are wearing too many clothes.” Scott's voice has taken a deeper cadence, some growling undertone. That's new, too. Stiles would tease him for trying to be sexy if it wasn't working so well. He should stop this and ask Scott what he’s so nervous about. He will. Soon. But right now his mouth is dry and instead he leans back and pulls his shirt over his head as asked. It lands somewhere on the floor out of sight where it is joined by Scott’s a few moments later.

 

Scott is warm beneath him, familiar and strong. Stiles can feel the muscle twitch under his hands as he lightly drags his fingertips over Scott's sides. The move earns him a gasp and a giggle. Watching the play of Scott's abs as they contract is fascinating and, just because he can, he drags his fingernails lightly down Scott's chest. Starting at his collar bone, over his chest and further down, around his navel, over his hip bones, until he finally stops at the seam of Scott's jeans. He lays special attention on the scar that he had left on Scott when he was more than himself and not himself at all. He trails around it with his finger once, twice, then moves on.

 

Stiles is still undecided on how he feels about that, but against all logical sense, it seems that Scott likes the mark. He hasn’t explained it to Stiles, says he hasn’t found the words to articulate the reasons yet, but he doesn’t have to. Stiles sees the way Scott shivers, can see his eyes darken every time he brushes his lips or fingers over the raised welt of scar tissue. It’s enough to know that Scott likes it. Stiles doesn’t need an explanation for Scott’s desires.

 

And so he lavishes attention over the spot, makes himself familiar with the feel of it, the taste of the skin there, the way Scott whines when he licks at it and the strangled moans he gives when Stiles bites at the skin around it hard enough to leave bruises that heal in seconds, but never hard enough to actually hurt. When he’s satisfied with his work of memorizing each and every single one of Scott’s reactions, and Scott is pliable but taut beneath him, he lets up. Stiles runs his hands down Scott’s front one last time, gentle pressure and care in his touch, before he sits up.

 

“Stiles.” The word is airy, more breath than vocalization, all his earlier bravado melted away. Scott’s pupils are wider than usual, making his eyes look darker than they already are. Stiles could lose himself in that stare and because they have the time, he does. There is no rush here. This isn’t planned, but it's not a bad time either. With a thought he sends out a tendril of magic and the door locks itself. Then he thinks about their conversation earlier and sends out another thought. Magic settles into the walls around them a second later and Stiles smirks.

 

“Your mum will have a hard time hearing us now.”

 

Scott doesn’t seem to appreciate Stiles’ initiative quite as much as he’d hoped, though. Instead he sits up too, almost dislodging Stiles who’s still sitting on his legs. He shoots an arm out to steady Stiles before he voices his thoughts. “Should you be using magic like that right now? I thought you were… You know. Hungry?” Concern is written into the expression on his face.

 

It still feels weird every time Scott brings up his new eating habits. Stiles will get used to it eventually, or at least he hopes he will. It’s not an issue anyway. He gets by. Scott doesn’t have to worry about that.

 

“I know what my limits are, Scott. Well I know what they are mostly,” he amends at the incredulous look Scott shoots him, and okay, so they may not have made as much headway on that as Stiles’ would like but still. “A simple illusion of silence isn't much of a drain, so I won’t-” he breaks off, because there's something more than worry in Scott's eyes, and it's not the desire that he’d hoped for. It’s the same thing that’s been there since earlier; nerves.

 

And suddenly Stiles is nervous too. He hadn’t thought about it because he didn’t think it was an issue, not for Scott, but it’s true. Stiles is... Unstable. Three months of learning and training have done much for him, but he’s still not safe. They aren’t sure if he’s ever going to be completely safe.

 

There have been incidents. He’s pulled himself out of the lacrosse team for the time being, after one of their teammates broke an arm on a day that Stiles had been feeling particularly famished. He doesn’t remember sneaking into coach’s office where Greenberg had been waiting until someone could come get him and drive him to the ER. What he remembers is the relief of his craving and something warming the creeping chill in his bones, Greenberg asking what the fuck he was doing and him running out of the room again. Rumors have still not quite died down on how Greenberg somehow got lucky enough to not break his arm after all, but how he instead caught hypothermia in coach’s well-heated office.

 

That was a week ago and Greenberg is better now, but he still sits as far away from Stiles as possible in class and runs out of every room Stiles enters if he can get away with it. There have been looks. Concern from his dad, who knows as little of the story as Stiles could get away with telling him. Fear from Isaac, who still has trouble staying close to him for long. Stiles has no idea how much Scott told his mum, but there had been suspicion there for a bit. Not for long, but still it stings.

 

Stiles had thought though, that he and Scott were fine. Granted, it had been the first time that Scott had actually  _ seen _ him be something more than docile since that day in the hospital where he’d been pain drunk and breaking shit.

 

He’s been trying his best to be harmless, even if he technically knows he can’t be that anymore. It’s smart of Scott to not want to be locked in a silenced room with him, at Stiles’ mercy, for an indefinite amount of time when Stiles is hungry and emotions are running high. It  _ is. _ Stiles has no right to be feeling like someone is ripping holes into his intestines just because Scott has a sense of self-preservation.

 

Scott is still looking at him, but by now, instead of weary, he just looks slightly confused and worried. Stiles has been silent too long. He sighs and slowly climbs off Scott’s lap. It feels wrong to stay as they are now. There is a stone weighing down his chest, making breathing harder and moving difficult.

 

“If you don’t,” and damn, should it hurt this much to say that? He swallows around the lump in his throat. Starts again. “If you don’t want to do this anymore, that’s fine. I just thought….”

 

Scott is up and back at his side so fast that the whole bed moves with him. “ _ No! _ That’s not what I was getting at at all! What the hell, Stiles? Where did you even get that from? No. I just. It’s...” and that cute blush from earlier is back with a vengeance. Scott’s entire face is red up to his ears. It’s entirely adorable and very confusing. If Scott isn’t weary of Stiles’ hunger, and he is hungry, he can’t even deny it, then what is it that he’s so afraid of? Why did he bring it up?

 

“What is it then, Scott?” Stiles asks, maybe a bit sharper than strictly necessary but there is a high demand on his patience lately and he doesn’t have an infinite supply of it.

 

“I was, I mean... I  _ am _ trying to say-” Scott’s blush deepens, which only deepens Stiles’ curiosity. A beat of silence, then another. Then. “Iwantyoutoeatme.” Scott says it all in one breath as if he needs to get the words out of his mouth as fast as possible before he loses the courage to say them. Then he aims his large, brown puppy eyes at Stiles, open wide and pleading. 

 

Stiles stares right back, absolutely sure that he must have misheard, because Scott simply cannot just have said what Stiles thinks he heard him say. “You want me to...what?”

 

Scott, who by now is resembling a rather flustered tomato, clears his throat and says the words again, slower this time. “I want you to eat me.”

 

“Yes, that’s what I thought you said,” Stiles says with no inflection whatsoever. It still makes no more sense the second time he hears it.

 

Unless…

 

Realization sinks into him slowly and his eyes widen and his mouth fall open. Stiles has joked about it before, because of course he has. He’s Stiles and he’s tactless and he jokes about everything if he can get away with it, some things even if he can’t.

 

But now here is Scott, blushing like a lobster in a boiling pot, anxious and nervous and anticipating an answer to the question he can’t even bring himself to really ask.

 

“You want me… You want me to feed off of you?” and then winces because he still  _ hates _ the term. He feels like a damn vampire every time he even thinks it, but ‘eating someone’ as Scott puts it, has wildly different but no less creepy undertones. Maybe someday they will find a word that doesn’t make him cringe. Today is not that day.

 

So far he has managed to get by on the ambient chaos that is always present in Beacon Hills and a few of his dad’s headaches. He hasn’t found a permanent solution, which is what lead to the Greenberg situation in the first place. However, he won’t make himself dependent on Scott. He cannot ask Scott to do this for him just because Stiles needs more for food than the average Joe.

 

“Scott, no. Remember last week? Greenberg? I don't think I could handle it, if I did that to you.” He sinks down at the foot of the bed and draws his knees to his chest, hugs his arms around his legs. He doesn’t let himself consider it, because the idea is far too tempting. He’s tried to tame his more violent instincts for months now, and here is Scott, practically asking to be hurt, and if Stiles lets himself linger on it-

 

He’s torn between want and denial, between arousal and… an emotion that should probably be horror but feels more like excitement.

 

“Stiles you won’t harm me,” Scott says it like he believes it and Stiles laughs bitterly. Then there is a hand on his shoulder and Scott’s still concerned face right next to him but, “Isn’t that what you’re asking me to do? You know you’re playing with fire here, don’t you?” He hisses the words and digs his fingernails into his own wrists, so he won’t do anything he’ll come to regret later.

 

“No. I’m asking you to hurt me because I want you to and because I think I’d enjoy it. I know you’ve heard of BDSM before. I know you’d never go so far as to actually harm me.” Now that the topic has actually been raised all the awkwardness visibly drains out of Scott. He’s calm, almost relaxed, like they are discussing the weather rather than Stiles’ darkest desires, biggest fears and most wishful thoughts.

 

Scott is a stupid idiot and Stiles can’t hold on to himself any longer. It takes him less than a second to grab both of Scott’s wrists and pin him to the bed. Kneeling on Scott’s legs, Stiles has rendered him almost completely immobile in the space of a breath. Maybe he’s going a bit far here, but he’s trying to make a point. Yet, Scott’s eyes are wide, but not fearful and Stiles snarls and internally takes back everything he ever thought about Scott and a sense of self-preservation. This boy is obviously suicidal.

 

“Are you so sure about that, really?” he snarls and he doesn’t know if it’s desperation or rage that colors his voice. Scott cannot be this trusting. Not about this. Not when Stiles doesn’t even trust himself.

 

Scott on the other hand still seems almost unphased. “I am. I’m sure you would never go too far, Stiles. You’re more in control of yourself than you think you are and I trust you. I want this and I want it with you. I’ve wanted it for a long time. If it’s not something you want then I won’t ask again. Hell, I’m not gonna force you, obviously. But don’t just dismiss something that we would both enjoy just because you’re afraid of yourself.” How does Scott manage to make his voice both warm and hard at the same time? He speaks with a voice like satin covered steel, and determination in every facet of his body language.

 

“And what if you’re wrong? What if I really can’t control myself once we get going? What if I go too far, Scott? What if you tell me to stop and I don’t? What then?” He tightens the grip on Scott’s wrists until he sees him wince, winces himself as Scott does, but he needs him to understand what position he’s putting the both of them into. Scott so vulnerable and defenseless scares Stiles in ways he doesn’t know how to articulate.

 

Scott doesn’t let up the thought. “You wouldn’t. You won’t. I know you wouldn’t because you haven’t. You’ve never even tried. You’ve had more than enough chance. I’ve made it clear to you more than once that I would enjoy it and you haven’t taken me up on the offer. All I want to know if it is because you don’t want to, or because you’re afraid.”

 

Stiles is more than afraid, he’s terrified. He’s afraid of the things he wants and the idea that Scott is offering them so freely feels the wrong kind of dangerous.

 

He’s happy with what they have. He doesn’t need anything else. Scott is an amazing boyfriend and Stiles couldn’t be happier.

 

Except…

 

Except Scott is asking, keeps asking, has been continuously less subtle in his asking every time for months and now Stiles can no longer pretend not to hear the question. He  _ wants  _ what Scott is offering with a force that leaves him breathless and shaking.

 

Once again it comes down to trust, doesn’t it? Does Scott trust him enough, does Stiles trust Scott enough? The answer is yes to both of those questions. He doesn’t even have to think about it. Does Stiles trust  _ himself  _ enough, though?

 

He wants to. He’s tired of being afraid of his own mind, of what might happen if. If he loses control, if he goes to far, if someone notices.  _ If _ . There are too many  _ ifs _ .

 

With Scott’s, Kira’s and Noshiko's help, Stiles has started learning what he can and can't do. It didn't take long for them to realize that while he has the old Foxes memories and most of his powers, Stiles is not what It was. He's not a full Nogitsune.

 

The best explanation they have come up with so far is that when the demon's essence clashed with his own, they combined, leaving Stiles as a being somewhere in between human and not. Noshiko had called him hanyou - half demon.

 

It's what lets him stay tethered to Scott and his pack without feeling trapped or going insane. It's what lets him heal when he takes pain. He’s more, or maybe less than a demon, and he couldn’t be more grateful. It had been an unspeakable relief to find out that there are some human parts left in him. There might have been tears involved in the revelation, from more than one person.

 

What happened to him is unique or at least so rare that they haven’t been able to find any accounts of it happening before. Even children of kitsune and humans are usually either one or the other. Not like Stiles, stuck in between.

 

But even if he’s only part Nogitsune, he still craves -  _ needs _ \- pain and chaos. He wants what Scott wants. But which part of him is it, that wants it? The human or the demon?

 

“I…” it feels like his teeth are glued together. “I don’t know, Scott. I don’t know what I want okay? I know I want you. I know I’m terrified of what you’re asking because I’m afraid I might want it too much, for the wrong reasons. I-“

 

“What wrong reasons?” Scott interrupts him, frowning.

 

Stiles wants to turn away from him, but he would have to let go of Scott’s wrists for that and he apparently hasn’t made his point yet. He lets up the pressure a bit though.

 

“I don’t know if I want it because I do, or because the Nogitsune would have.” The words come out more of a frustrated hiss than actual words and as soon as they leave him so does all the fight that was in him before.

 

Fuck it, he can’t look at Scott’s ernest concern and confusion anymore. He lets go and makes to pull away, but Scott catches his hand in his before he can.

 

“So what?” he says and now Scott sounds angry. “So because you don’t know for sure where your thoughts come from you’re going to question every single one of them, forever? Your entire life?” Stiles doesn’t react fast enough and so Scott rants on. 

 

“You do this all the time, Stiles. You act like you’re two people. Like you’re ‘Stiles’ and ‘Not-Stiles’, or ‘Stiles-Before’ and ‘Stiles-After’” Scott looks him straight in the eyes now, with that look that feels like it could flail Stiles’ soul open. “But you’re not. You’re still all you. Am I part Peter now because he bit me?”

 

“Of course not!” Stiles replies instantly. The question throws him off though. What does Peter have to do with any of this?

 

“Why not?” Scott goes on. There’s a challenging glint in his eyes now. “I have the instincts he has, the powers he has…He tried to make me like him, his tool.” ‘ _ Like the nogitsune did to you,’ _ is what he doesn’t say.

 

“Yeah, but you’re nothing like him.” Stiles gets his point now and it’s a shitty one. “You don’t…”

 

“Why are you so convinced that you are anything like the Nogitsune? You are  _ what  _ It made you, not  _ who _ It made you.” Scott’s hand is tight around Stiles wrist, firm and unmovable like an iron band. His eyes are flashing, not with color but with frustration, as if he was explaining something extremely basic to someone deliberately refusing to see his point. “You didn’t want it, but this is not going to go away, Stiles. These thoughts you have? These urges? They are not the Nogitsunes. You said it yourself, the Nogitsune is dead. They are your thoughts, your instincts, your wants. Yours. And if you want to have any chance at controlling them you need to accept that first.”

 

Stiles clenches his fists in the sheets to stop himself from punching Scott. “I KNOW THAT, OKAY!?” he shouts. Good thing he put up that silence barrier earlier or Melissa would definitely come running now. “YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW? Fuck, Scott I know what happened to me better than anyone else, okay?! Better than you, better than dad, better than Noshiko. I just… I feel like I should be more scared of myself than I am. The person I am now would make the Stiles from a year ago shit his pants. I’m not safe. What’s worse is, I don’t mind it anymore. And I’m worried about what that means.”

 

He sighs and falls backwards onto the bed, unclenching one of his fists, so he can throw an arm over his face to cover his eyes. He doesn’t want Scott to see his face right now. 

 

The room is silent for a while. Understandable. Stiles wouldn’t know what to say either. So long as he doesn’t say anything, Stiles can just keep staring at the backs of his eyelids and pretend this conversation isn’t happening.

 

Scott finds his voice eventually though. “It means you’re getting used to who you are now. That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” He says softly.

 

“Scott, my instincts are to  _ hurt _ people. For no reason other than ‘ _ wouldn’t it be fun?’.  _ You know, I think that’s objectively a bad thing.” How did they even get here? Why hadn’t Stiles stopped this conversation before it got this far? He’s usually better at diversions.

 

Scott goes quiet again and Stiles has to strain to hear his next words. “I- I know it’s not the same, but Stiles when I first got turned I almost killed you. I almost killed a lot of people and, yeah, part of that was because of Peter but. But part of that was just me. You’ve seen how Malia is. You know how Isaac can get and, hell, even Derek. We all got violent tendencies we didn’t ask for. You’re not alone. I keep telling you that, but you’re not listening.” 

 

Stiles says nothing. Scott is right, though.

 

When he speaks next there is something derisive in his voice that doesn’t seem aimed at Stiles. “At least you haven’t had to wonder yet if you accidentally killed someone in your sleep.”

 

That’s true. It might be because Stiles hardly sleeps at all these days, but that wasn’t Scott’s point. He lowers his arm and turns his head to look at Scott.

 

“You really trust me that much? You would let me hurt you and trust me not to go to far?” He still can’t believe it. He doesn’t understand the why or the how of it.

 

“Yes.” There is no hesitation in the answer. Statement of fact, no doubts whatsoever. Once again Stiles marvels at how Scott McCall can be a real person that exists, who he got to meet, who somehow loves him. In the face of Scott’s staggering trust, Stiles’ doubts crumble. Why can he not have what they both want?

 

“Remind me to thank the universe for letting me exist at the same time as you, you  _ absolute idiot _ .” He feels so overwhelmingly fond of Scott in that moment, something constricts in his chest. It’s a good feeling. Warm.

 

“If we’re doing this, I need to know what you want. In detail. Maybe draw me a diagram, I don’t know. Charts might help, too?” He’s not entirely joking. “What do you want me to do? What do you  _ not  _ want me to do? Is this going to be a sex thing or would you rather if it wasn’t?”

 

Scott, now half propped up against the pillows, blushes again and replies with the most unhelpful word in the English language. “Umm…”

 

His dad once told him that if he’s too embarrassed to talk about sex he’s not ready to have sex yet. Stiles has always called bullshit on that. He doesn’t see how this conversation could be any less awkward and uncomfortable. Maybe it’s time to break the tension a little.

 

He morphs his face into a leer, sits up and leans as far into Scott’s space as he can without actually touching him.

 

“Do you want me to vulcanize my whoopee stick in your ham wallet?” he says in most fake sexy voice he can manage.

 

Scott immediately bursts out laughing. “Do I want you to  _ what?!”  _ he chokes out when he gasps for air, but Stiles isn’t done yet.

 

“Do you want me to cattle prod your oyster ditch with my lap rocket?” he goes on and Scott shoves him away, still laughing.

 

“Stiles what the-?”

 

As he tumbles off the bed Stiles starts singing the next verse of F.U.C.K. by The Bloodhound Gang at the top of his lungs. He doesn’t make it to the chorus before Scott is on him an pressing a hand over his mouth. Stiles lets himself be shut up, for now.

 

“Okay, I get it! You can shut up now!”

 

“Aww, Scotty. Don’t you like my singing?” he says, voice muffled by Scott’s hand.

 

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Scott asks, with mirth in his voice. “Where the hell did that even come from?”

 

“Well, if you’re too embarrassed to talk to me about what you want, I’m just going to have to assume, aren’t I?”

 

Scott’s eyes narrow at him. “Do  _ not _ start singing again,” he says, then moves his hand away. Stiles stays silent but levels an expectant look at Scott.

 

“Alright. So. I might not have thought this through as much as I thought I had? I want to do this but I don’t…”

 

“You don’t know what to ask for? Yeah, okay I get it. How about this; I ask you some things and you tell me yes or no and if I do anything you don’t want me to you say… something. Pick a safe word.”

 

Scott nods thoughtfully. “That sounds like a good idea. How about ‘Rafael’? For a safe word?”

 

Stiles winces. “That would definitely break the mood, yeah. Are you sure? I’d have gone for something a bit more, I don’t know, neutral?”

 

“Well it’s not likely that I’ll say it accidentally, and I’m pretty sure I won’t forget my father’s name so…” he trails off.

 

Stiles has can’t argue with that logic, so all he says is “Okay then.”

 

Considering, he looks at Scott, then around the room, taking everything in. He knows what he wants, has a good idea of what Scott wants too, but most importantly he knows what he  _ doesn’t _ want. There are some bad associations here just waiting to happen. Neither of them need those. This is new - new experience just for them. Stiles has an idea.

 

“I’m going to close the curtains. That okay with you?” Scott nods. Could be that he’s just humoring Stiles but the broad daylight feels wrong for what he’s about to do, and he hasn’t forgotten Derek’s habit of watching him through windows. The fact that he hasn’t in a while doesn’t mean that he won’t do it again. 

 

Once the light in the room is dimmed to what little filters through the fabric, Stiles takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and focuses on the cold, gnawing feeling inside of him. He lets it rise up, lets it fill him to the brim, then he breathes out and let’s it go.

 

Immediately he feels calm. The anxiety, the worries, the tension, the  _ hesitation _ all wash away like they were never there. What was he even worried about before? This is Scott, his friend, his tether, the axis on which Stiles’ world turns. Scott has this way of making Stiles’ bad ideas seem possible, of making Stiles feel braver than he is, more daring, less afraid.

 

“Lie on your back for me,” he says, firm. Not a request, but not an order either. Scott listens anyway. When Stiles settles on the bed as well, he does so straddling Scott’s thighs. The warmth of Scott’s body radiates even through thick layers of jeans but Stiles is still cold, though he doesn’t mind.

 

If he was planning to give Scott a backrub, he’d sit like this too. That’s not for today, though Stiles would like to try it sometime. Maybe later, another day.

 

“So what did you have in mind?” Scott asks. He’s radiating nervousness or maybe it’s anticipation? Stiles can’t quite tell but he hopes it’s the latter.

 

“You want me to hurt you, but I don’t want to damage you. I know your hot werewolf bod is sturdy, that you can heal, but we’ve never done. I know how much you can  _ survive _ , but that’s not a line I want to even get close to. Ever. You with me so far?”

 

Scott nods. Stiles shakes his head. “Out loud, Scotty. I gotta hear you say it.”

 

“Yes, fine. I’m with you so far, can we  _ please  _ get on with it now?” That almost sounds like a whine and Stiles grins even if Scott can’t see it in their current position.

 

“Oh, I was going to, but maybe I should wait. See how long it takes to see you beg.”

 

“Fuck you, Stiles,” Scott growls, strained but without any heat. Then - after a pause, “Please?”

 

“Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

 

He concentrates. Foxfire comes as easily to him as it does to all kitsune. It’s effortless, instinctual to call on the energy. An electric current sparks along his fingers. He keeps it as weak as he can, just barely enough for Scott to feel it, then leans forward and presses two fingers to the place where Scott's neck meets his shoulder.

 

Scott jolts so hard he almost dislodges Stiles and throws him off the bed. “ _ Jesus!”  _ he hisses. “Did you just-? What was that-?”

 

“Foxfire.” He whispers the word in Scott’s ear, feels him tremble. “It won’t leave a mark. It won’t harm you, but it will sting. Each time a little more until you can’t take it anymore or tell me to stop.” He lets the words sink in.

 

In truth, Foxfire can do far more than sting and they both know it. It’s the power Stiles is most practiced with thought and he’s reasonably sure that if he hurts  _ anyone _ with this now, it will be because he intended to.

 

“Unless you want me to stop now?”

 

“ _ Please  _ don't stop now.” Oh, this time that’s definitely a whine. This boy is going to kill him.

 

“Don't worry, Scott. I won’t unless you ask me to.”

 

Stiles runs his fingers down Scott’s spine. Just his fingers this time. Half the fun is in keeping Scott guessing. He keeps his touches gentle except for the times when he doesn’t.

 

Scott twitches and shivers with the next spark, moans at the one after  _ that _ . His muscles are shaking with micro-spasms and Stiles drinks in every reaction eagerly (not literally, that’s something for later too). Leaning forward he catches the expression on Scott’s face. Mouth a little open and eyes shut tight, he looks caught between pain and bliss.

 

Stiles did that. He’s the reason Scott looks like this and it feels like his proudest achievement.

 

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks as he trails a sparking finger along Scott’s shoulder blade and then slowly down the ridges of his spine. Scott’s back bows and he howls in answer. He seems slightly past the point of coherent speech by now and Stiles pulls the Foxfire back under his skin, let’s his touch turn gentle and soothing again, runs his hands over Scott’s back until he’s almost calmed down then sends another shower of sparks over his midriff.

 

A half-aborted hissing sound is his reward. Squirming and panting and so very hot beneath him, Scott paints a sensual picture. It’s fascinating, the way he moves; smooth, almost elegant and fluid when Stiles is kind; jerking, unpredictable and full of tightly wound energy when he is  _ not _ . He’s not sure yet which he prefers. Scott is beautiful no matter what.

 

“Stiles…” he gasps out when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Stiles, please! I want-ngg”

 

“Please what, Scott? What do you want?” Stiles takes his hands off of him entirely. Better to not distract if Scott is finally asking for something.

 

“I want to see you. I- Please, can I turn around?”

 

It’s a dangerous request. It’s difficult enough to hold himself back even without seeing Scott’s face. Scott is by far too tempting as is and Stiles is painfully hard in his jeans already. But if Scott thinks that now is the time for them to up the ante, who is Stiles to deny him. And really, there is never a time when he  _ doesn’t  _ want to see Scott’s face.

 

If he comes in his pants he can just blame it on being a teenager and Scott being way too sexy for his own good. Because he is. No one can deny that.

 

“Sure,” and he gets up. Scott turns on his back and when Stiles finally sees his face when it’s not mostly buried in a pillow his breath catches in his chest. Scott is flushed and slightly panting, eyes wide open, the large pupils make them seem even darker than they usually are. He’s sweating slightly, which gives his skin a golden shine in the low light. There is no way Stiles would ever get tired of seeing Scott like this. Powerful true alpha or not, here, Scott is open. He’s letting Stiles see every part of him and trusts him to care for them.

 

To Stiles, it feels like an honor.

 

Once Scott has gotten comfortable, Stiles leans over him. After pressing a kiss into the hollow of Scott’s throat he asks, “Ready to continue?”

 

Scott nods, then, when Stiles doesn’t move to do anything he rolls his eyes and says “Yes, I’m ready. Do you really want me to say it every time?”

 

“I like hearing how much you want this. It’s reassuring. And hot.” Stiles shrugs. Neither of them are much into dirty talk. It embarrasses Scott while Stiles just thinks it’s ridiculous and more likely to make him laugh than turn him on, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t other words that could get them going. Listening to Scott ask for what he wants is one of the hottest things on earth in Stiles’ opinion.

 

Scott blinks, then smiles. “Well in that case, how about you keep doing what you were doing before, but this time we take our pants off?”

 

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea.” Seems like he’s not the only one getting uncomfortable in jeans.

 

Stiles steps out of his pants and takes off his socks too for good measure, because it’s impossible to look hot when wearing nothing but fox printed socks (a gift from his dad - Stiles is still not sure if that was meant to be supportive or a joke but he loves them anyway).

 

There really is no sexy way to get out of pants and underwear but it looks like Scott is making a passing attempt at it anyway. He does so, without even getting out of bed, which is not the best idea. With all the natural grace of a newborn foal Scott wriggles out of them and only succeeds in making it look like his pants are trying to eat his legs. When he notices Stiles sniggering he gives up with a frustrated huff and just kicks them the rest of the way off and off the bed.

 

“You don’t need to try and be sexy for me, Scott. Believe me when I say you got that one covered with surplus.” He leans over him again, makes to kneel on the bed and Scott spreads his legs a little wider to make room for him. He was right, Stiles realizes. It’s much better this way, where they can see each other.

 

“So now that we’ve gotten both our pants off, what are your plans here?” Scott is the one who proposed this thing after all. He’s the one who has done something like this before. Not with a guy, no, but there has been Allison. Stiles hasn’t. What happened with Malia in that basement was intense and worth remembering but there hadn’t been any romance involved. It had been comfort, not love that they shared.

 

Scott is on a n entirely different page all together. Idly, Stiles wonders why he isn’t more nervous. It feels like maybe he should be, like this next step should scare him. It doesn't. While they are now headed in unfamiliar territory, Scott is the most familiar thing in Stile's life.

 

Scott’s warmth and care and passion aren’t new. His almost needy enthusiasm isn’t new. Not even seeing him naked is new, though Stiles admits that the context is a bit out of the norm. 

 

Stiles has seen Scott’s dick before even before they started dating. Couldn’t have gotten around it if he tried, really. That’s how school locker rooms and communal showers work and it’s not like either of them had maintained personal boundaries between them, even before they joined the lacrosse team.

 

At this point, he has more than just seen it. He knows what it tastes like, knows how it feels in his hand, heavy and warm and thick. What they have done before, though, was fun and exploratory. Today has been more already. He's not sure how much more it will be. That's up to Scott.

 

“Let's keep doing what we were doing? And then... I mean- If you're okay with it-” Scott strats as if sensing the directions Stiles’ thoughts are heading. They probably aren’t that hard to guess with both of them naked on the bed, to be fair.

 

Suddenly there are hands at Stiles sides and back, moving slow but firm and Stiles can do nothing but lean into the touch. He feels like an especially affectionate cat, but really there is no helping it. Scott’s hands are warm and soft and they chase the chill from his skin wherever they land.

 

“Scott, at this point I think it's safe to say that there is nothing I would not be willing to do with you, or for you. So. Out with it. Just tell me.”

 

Scott takes a deep breath and finally puts words to what he's been implying all day. “I want to, to try,  _ you know.”  _ Another deep breath. Stiles just waits, expectantly. “I want to have you inside of me. I want to know what that feels like.”

 

The smile that breaks out on Stiles, face makes his cheeks ache. It must look ridiculous but he doesn't care. “I would like that,” and if there is something like reverence in his voice, well, that's only accurate. “I would like that a lot in fact.”

 

“There is lube and stuff in the bedside drawer,” and, yeah, Stiles had known that Scott had planned this but the picture of Scott in a store buying lube and condoms for the both of them is – something. It's a bit hard to put words to it. So all he does is grin one more time and kiss the corner of Scott's mouth.

 

“Thank you. Honestly, thank you. But first, let me drive you a little more insane.” His fingernails spark as they dig into Scott's ribs, leaving small indents like crescent moons in his wake. They are gone a second later but Stiles knows the sensation lingers. He can feel it accumulating, rising in Scott but he's curious...

 

“What does this feel like for you?” he wonders out loud, and lets sparks rain over Scott's chest. “What does it feel like when I do this?” One of the sparks lands on Scott's right nipple and the shout he lets out almost makes Stiles flinch.

 

Scott doesn't answer or maybe he can't, Stiles doesn't know. What he does know is that when Stiles pulls his hand back to give Scott a little more room to breathe, Scott grabs him by the wrist to pull him back.

 

“I'm not-” he pants “-fragile. Please, Stiles. You don’t have to hold back so much. You won’t break me.”

 

Stiles eyes him for a moment, let’s himself taste Scott’s emotions for the first time that day, just to be sure. It’s sharp pain and the sour tang of frustration mixed with spicy-sweet arousal.

 

Well then. Scott is asking for what he wants, which is good, but Stiles is reluctant to deliver more than he has given already. They are supposed to be testing Scott’s limits, not blowing right past them. Still. There has got to be a compromise there. Maybe. Not holding back is not an option, but if Scott wants more that is something that Stiles can provide. 

 

A thought, and the tips of his fingers begin to sizzle quietly.

 

He draws the tip of one finger along Scott's hipbone, barely even touching the skin.

 

Scott  _ screams. _

 

His back bows off the bed and fists are digging into the sheets beneath him, claws digging deep into the mattress. His entire body is one taut curve of tension. He's beautiful like this. It takes a moment for Scott to come back down, and then Stiles repeats the action, this time tracing over Scott's abs, which gives him a similar reaction.

 

He wonders when the right time to stop this will be because it doesn't seem like Scott will say anything anytime soon. And so Stiles has his eyes fixed on Scott's face, watching, not for discomfort, because that is the name of the game they're playing, but for an absence of pleasure.

 

Finally, when he draws his fingers around Scott's navel, he sees them approaching that line.

 

“That's enough,” he declares and the fact that Scott doesn't protest this time tells him he made the right decision. No need to push too far the first time they do this.

 

Scott is shivering with too much adrenaline, eyes wide and staring at Stiles as if he's never seen him before. He is breathing hard as Stiles wraps himself around him. Both their dicks are still hard which makes the action slightly uncomfortable but he ignores it and starts whispering small praises in into Scott’s ear. “You've done so well, Scotty. You've been so good for me. I still can't believe you would let me do this, holy shit. I really don't deserve you. I love you. I love you so fucking much. You’re  _ perfect _ and you’re  _ perfect for me  _ and I’m so  _ unbelievably lucky _ to have you.”

 

Scott is silent, but he turns into Stiles embrace, presses himself against Stiles until there are connected from the shoulder to the hips. Stiles runs his hands over his back and shoulders and  through his hair. He turns his touches gentle again but firm, rains butterfly kisses down the side of Scott’s neck and doesn't stop talking until Scott has stopped shivering.

 

“I love you, too,” is the first thing Scott says when he finds his voice again. The words are quiet and hoarse but no less sincere for it and again Stiles' heart swells in his chest. The grip he has on Scott grows unintentionally tighter for a second before Stiles lets go and moves back just enough, so that he can turn his head up and see Scott's face.

 

“You, Scott McCall, are truly a perfect person and I cannot put into words how amazed by you I am. Let me take care of you?”

 

Languid and open, a smiles creeps onto Scott's face and he nods. He sighs when Stiles lays his hand against his temple. The pain he has caused Scott flows up Stiles' arm like fire, flooding him with energy and warming him down to the tips of his toes. Scott gives a satisfied sigh and leans into the touch a little, still smiling.

 

“Better?” they both ask at the same time. Stiles snorts while Scott just chuckles and makes a gesture for Stiles to go first.

 

“Yes, much better. Thank you, Scott. And you? Are you okay?”

 

“Much better than okay, Stiles. We are absolutely doing that again. I don't think I've been this relaxed in years.” That might very well be true.

 

“You still up for what we talked about earlier then?” he asks. “If you'd rather, I don't know, sleep? I'd be fine with that as well.”

 

Scott just scoffs, then grinds himself against Stiles in one fluid motion, reminding him of both of their hard-ons that he'd been ignoring so far in favor of other pursuits. “No way. We're doing that. I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted you in me. Anyway I read that it's better when you're relaxed anyway.”

 

“You read... of course you read up on this before asking me.” Stiles says when he finds his voice again which had temporarily gone offline along with his brain at the feeling of Scott's dick rubbing against his own. He can't even make fun of Scott for the research because he did e _ xactly the same thing _ less than two weeks into their relationship. Stiles loves this boy for many reasons he could not articulate when asked and this? This is definitely one of them.

 

“Alright then,” he places another kiss on Scott's lips, lingers there for a while, lets it be soft and intimate but keeping his mouth closed. “Tell me if I'm hurting you.  _ This _ is not supposed to hurt. So tell me. Immediately.” Then he moves back and reaches over to grab a bottle and a condom.

 

He squeezes the bottle until his fingers are drenched in lube, then adds some more for good measure. He remembers reading somewhere that there is no such thing as too much of the stuff and he'd rather be safe.

 

The first finger goes in without much of a problem. Scott wasn't lying about being relaxed. He squirms a little at it though, brows furrowed and nose scrunched up.

“How does that feel?” Stiles asks, wriggling the finger a little and watching Scott's face very intently as he does.

 

“Weird,” is the answer he gets. “Not bad but, you know. Just weird.”

 

“Hmmm...” Well, that won't do. Stiles wants this to be  _ ‘absolutely fucking awesome’  _ not  _ ‘weird’.  _ “Okay, here, let me just, -” He angles his wrist differently, moves his finger back and forth a little, searching, eyes never leaving Scott's face. It doesn’t take long to find what he’s looking for. To him the spot doesn’t feel much different but Scott gasp and tenses when Stiles’ fingertip brushes against it. Stiles does it again and watches Scott’s entire face transform. His brows uncurl. His mouth falls open. He lets out a little  _ ‘oh’  _ sound that Stiles immediately needs to hear again. He loses himself in watching Scott for a bit and in doing so misses the spot the next time.

 

“ _ There! _ Do that again!” Scott orders, when he finds it again. Scott pushes down hard on his hand the next time he moves, follows him when Stiles pulls back, whines when he pulls his fingers free and moans a long and deep sound when he puts them back. Stiles loves every single one of the sounds Scott makes.

 

It’s a strange and intimate thing, to see the way Scott reacts, but just watching isn’t enough. Stiles wants to participate. And so, when he adds another finger and Scott frowns again with discomfort, Stiles leans up on the bed and places his mouth on Scott’s neck. The skin tastes salty here and bitter, a bit like sweat and soap, but Stiles doesn’t mind. He lets his mouth wander higher, along Scott’s beautifully uneven jaw, over his cheeks and- his plan was to get to the ear and maybe nibble at the lobe a little, but Scott has other plans it seems. Because as soon as he gets close enough there is suddenly a hand buried in his hair and then Scott’s mouth closes over his and in the next second Stiles forgets how to think. Scott is unfairly good at this kissing thing, moans in his mouth when Stiles moves his hand just right and licks at his lips with intent and passion that Stiles is only too eager to match. 

 

He pulls away even more flushed than before, eyes soft, but determined in that way that only Scott can pull off without looking ridiculous.

 

“If you don’t hurry up with it, Stiles, I am going to come all over you in the next two minutes and it will all be terribly embarrassing for the both of us so if you could?” 

 

Stiles laughs, despite himself. “Well I wouldn’t want to embarrass you but you’re taking one more finger before we do that.” He has hurt Scott enough for one day and no matter how enjoyable that may have been, this isn’t supposed to hurt. All he wants to give Scott now is pleasure.

 

“Come  _ on _ . Stiles, we’ve been over this. I am not fragile. I can heal. You cannot hurt me unless you’re actually trying, which you aren’t.  _ Please? _ ” It’s really flattering and all, how impatient Scott is to get Stiles’ dick in him, but Stiles is having none of it.

 

“One more,” he insists because just because Scott can heal doesn’t mean that he should have to.

 

Scott groans and rolls his eyes with something like fond annoyance, but spreads his thighs to accommodate Stiles better. 

 

Stiles is careful and diligent in his work and when he’s finally satisfied that Scott is as prepared as possible, he slides his fingers out of Scott’s passage, wipes them on the bed sheets that will need cleaning later anyway, whiles Scott grabs the condom and rolls it onto Stiles’ dick before Stiles can do it himself. 

 

“Eager, are we?” he asks with a laugh in his voice.

 

Scott gives him a halfhearted glare. “You’ve wound me up enough.”

 

“So... you’re saying that you’re only this eager for me?” and that earns him a punch, which, to be fair, he probably deserved.

 

“Get on with it!” Scott growls, eyes shining red for a second. Yeah, those are still just as hot as the first time Stiles saw them. Scott knows how to get him to do what he wants.

 

Stiles grabs the lube again and spreads a generous amount over his dick, before hesitating. 

 

“You know what, I have an idea,” he says and Scott looks ready to strangle him at the notion of delaying the sex any longer. 

  
“What?  _ Now? _ ” The disbelieve is as blatant in his voice as it is written on his face.

 

“No, no. You will like this. Come on, get up. Up! Up we go!” Stiles has them switching places in a second and then grabs Scott by the hips and guides him down slowly. Scott, who got the idea halfway through Stiles laying down, nods enthusiastically. 

 

He braces his hands on Stiles chest, the pressure makes it hard to breathe for a bit and then Stiles loses the ability to breathe entirely because Scott lines himself up with Stiles dick and sinks down in one fluid motion that has both of them moaning in unison.

 

Stiles’ hands tighten on Scott’s hips unconsciously as he bucks up into the tight heat that surrounds him suddenly. His breath comes in gasps and Scott’s in pants and neither of them move at all for a long while.

 

Then Scott smiles. “Ready?” he asks.

 

Stiles nods and smiles back. “Never been more ready for anything in my life.” It’s not even a lie.

 

When Scott starts moving - because of course it’s Scott who starts moving first - time comes to a stop around them, or at least that’s what it feels like. 

 

Stiles forgets how to think. His world narrows down to  _ heat and Scott and tight and more _ only interlaced with the occasional “please” and “Scott” that tumbles out of his mouth in broken shards of words because language is too complicated to fit in between the two of them right now.

 

Scott on the other hand seems to have given up on word completely. Stiles drinks in the sounds of Scotts occasional grunts and moans, enjoys the way they move, the rhythm they find together after a few awkward seconds, Stiles thinks that whatever else has happened to them, has been worth it, if it ended with the two of them in this moment.

 

Just as the thought crosses his mind Scott shudders above him one last time and then spills himself all over Stiles abdomen. A few more uncoordinated thrusts later, Stiles follows suit.

 

They’re lying next to each other, panting breaths that steady slowly. Scott is staring into his eyes with that expression again. The soft one that’s fond and disbelieving and makes Stiles bashful even if everyone else would say that that’s impossible. Stiles reaches out and tangles their finger together, squeezes Scott’s hand once and feels him squeeze back. They don’t say anything because they don’t need to, and the silence in the room feels more precious to Stiles than any words he could think of anyway. 

 

They stay like that for a while and they could have have maybe fallen asleep that way too but dried cum is uncomfortable to clean and they are sweaty besides. So eventually Stiles gets up to discard the condom and wet a washcloth with warm water and cleans them up the best he can while making sure that only one of them has to move. Then he crawls up the Scott again and draws the covers over them both, which seems a bit ridiculous, seeing it’s the middle of the day and they aren’t likely to actually sleep.

 

Nothing has changed between them, or at least nothing quantifiable. They have trusted each other before, and tested that trust before. They have loved each other before and expressed that love. But something is still slightly different - better - than it was this morning. 

 

Deeply satisfied and with Scott in his arms, Stiles slowly drifts of and, for the first time in a long time, he doesn't dream at all.

 

**_~FIN~_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I love each and every single one of you who has read this story until the end. It was a journey and an experience and I loved every second of it and I hope so did you. Thank you so much for sticking with me. You made this so much more fun than I could have anticipated.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving a comment on the way out <3
> 
> Find me on Tumblr as [Wisperwrites](https://wisperwrites.tumblr.com)


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